Tangled
by Xx starlight-moon xX
Summary: Lucius Malfoy begins a faltering romance with Narcissa Black. But Voldemort is on the ascent and Bellatrix is becoming increasingly unstable - while Cissy is beginning to see the world as it really is, and Lucius struggles to master his priorities . . .
1. Love It When You Call

**A / N : Okay, so this is the _third _project I've taken on in a few weeks, but I couldn't resist! You don't need to have read my other fics – Protege Moi or its sequel Long Road To Ruin – to understand this, or at least I hope not. You probably should know I use some not-strictly-canon ages though. Narcissa is seventeen and Lucius is twenty-one here. If anyone's confused, just ask me about it, I'm happy to explain. Updates will probably be quite infrequent, as I'm focusing more on my other projects at the moment. But let me know what you think, as always, I'd love your opinions, especially considering romance is not my usual style . . . **

**I take my chapter titles from songs in my music library, by the way – this one is from a song by The Feeling. **

**And, of course, I own nothing. That's all!**

**Love It When You Call**

The flowers were his first indication that he was not alone.

Lucius froze as his eye fell on the vase full of daffodils. There were many vases in the Malfoy Manor, but most of them hadn't been filled in years. In fact, he could only think of one person who _would _fill them. He was starting to regret entering the room in a such a hurry. So he turned around, very slowly, hiding his bloody hands behind his back.

"Narcissa?"

A burst of familiar laughter broke the silence. A pretty, fair-haired girl was sitting on his sofa, smiling at him. Narcissa Black. She leapt to her feet, her smile stretching a little wider, and laughed again.

"How did you know it was me?" she pouted. "You came in in such a hurry, I didn't think you even noticed me!"

Lucius smiled back at her, although his was a little more forced. He jerked his head towards the vase.

"The flowers," he explained. "I can't think of anyone else who'd bother."

"Oh. Sorry." She hesitated, biting her lower lip in a way that was strangely endearing.

Lucius pushed this thought out of his mind, wiping his bloody hands on the back of his cloak and pulling it off. He balled it up quickly, hiding the bloodstains from view, and threw it onto the other sofa.

"Anyway," Narcissa continued, "you don't mind, do you? I just thought it would be nice."

"No. I don't mind. How did you get in?"

Narcissa frowned. "The – the house-elf let me in. The little one - Dobby. Why?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just wasn't expecting you, that's all."

That was part of the truth. Lucius liked Narcissa. In fact, she was probably the only person he could honestly say he was fond of. What she was to him, he couldn't really say. Over the years, she had gone from Bella's little sister, to a troubled teenage girl in desperate need of a helping hand, to a sort of . . . friend, he supposed. She was seventeen now, and he thought (he hoped) her problems had faded somewhat. He saw her quite regularly – when she wasn't in school – and she certainly seemed happier. Lucius told himself that this was why he lied to Narcissa. For her sake. Because "I was out torturing people with your sister, actually," would only distress her, and he didn't want that. He was so preoccupied by the memory of Narcissa's reaction to things that upset her, it took him a moment to realize she was talking again. Waving a piece of silver card at him, in fact.

"Are you coming?"

"Wha – what?" He cleared his throat. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Narcissa frowned at him again. "To this." She waved the invite once more. "The Ministry fund-raiser. I asked Bella already, but she and Rodolphus were _adamant_ they aren't going. Don't ask me why. Which just leaves Avery, and I don't want to be stuck with him all night."

It was Lucius' turn to frown now. "I thought you and Avery were . . ."

"Oh we _are. _That's the problem. I'm sort of trying to find an excuse to dump him, which means that I don't want my mother seeing me with him. She'll only jump down his throat about proposing to me, which is the last thing I want."

"Of course not." Oddly enough, Lucius wholeheartedly agreed with this. The idea of Narcissa marrying Avery made him want to go out and resume the afternoon's activities. Which was a little disconcerting.

"So you want me to keep you company?"

"If you don't mind." She flashed him another angelic smile. "And no Lolita subtext, I swear!"

She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, and Lucius winced. He really, _really _wished she would forget that. It had been _years _ago, that he'd said that. Now, watching her smile prettily at him and go out of her way to reassure him that she had no romantic inclinations towards him whatsoever, he found himself regretting it more than ever.


	2. Dance, Dance

**A / N : Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one! I'm actually surprised and delighted by the positive reaction to this fic. It's made my day, so I decided to write you all another chapter, to say thank you! This chapter title is from the song by Fall Out Boy. Enjoy! **

**Dance, Dance**

Narcissa Black was bored.

Sipping from a champagne flute, she wound a strand of fair hair around her finger and tried to deflect the stares she was attracting, smiling to herself. Once upon a time, she would have hated the attention. But not now. Now, she was as surprised as anyone to find she didn't mind it. In fact, it was quite flattering. She had begun to understand, in recent years, why Bellatrix behaved as though universal envy and adoration were a Black family birthright. Because they _were. _

She jumped as someone grabbed her by the waist and spun her sharply round.

"Avery!"

Before she had a chance to say anything else he had pressed his lips to hers, pulling her close in a hungry kiss. It took her a moment to prise him off.

"Do you _mind?" _she exclaimed, as soon as she had succeeded in doing so. "We're in company! And I'm holding a drink!"

He glared at her. "So?"

"So? I'm wearing _white!" _she cried.

Avery stared at her for a moment, taking in the white silk dress with a starved expression. "You're wearing _white," _he said sourly. "Of _course." _

Narcissa stared back at him in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Virgin white," he said acidly. "It suits you," he added with a sneer.

Narcissa scowled and whacked him with the only thing within reach, her white satin clutch. "If you don't like it," she said hotly, "you know what you can do, don't you? Get lost."

"You're no fun."

"Good! In that case, go _have fun _with someone else."

He glanced towards the buffet, where her mother stood, clad in her usual sombre black robes and looking sour as she examined a tray full of canapés. Certain that she was paying them no attention, he leaned in close and tried to kiss Narcissa again. She dodged, still furious, and he pulled away, looking more resentful than ever.

"_Bitch!"_

Narcissa stared at him, equally annoyed. "And you wonder," she said flatly, "why I don't like you anymore."

He stormed off, and she sighed, turning to pick up her champagne flute again. She started as she felt someone catch her by the wrist. She spun round, still irritated and intent on giving the stranger a piece of her mind, but stopped suddenly as she realized it wasn't a stranger at all. It was Lucius.

"Lucius!"

She smiled. Her bad mood had evaporated almost instantly, unsurprisingly. Lucius had that effect on her.

He smiled back at her, pushing her drink further out of reach. "You look nice in white," he said softly.

She blinked. He was staring at her with a rather odd expression on his face. "Oh," she said vaguely, finding her voice at last, "do I? I suppose so . . . but you've probably seen me in white before, of course . . ."

She was aware that she was babbling, but she couldn't seem to stop. Something curiously soft in his expression was making her blush. He didn't seem to notice.

"No. I've never seen you in white before," he said distantly, still staring at her. "I would have remembered."

There was a moment of awkward silence, as Narcissa's ability to make small-talk deserted her, and then Lucius seemed to recollect himself.

"Let's dance," he said suddenly.

"D - dance?" Narcissa stammered, wrong-footed by the unexpected change of topic.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked smile. He held out a hand. "Yes," he said firmly. "Let's dance."


	3. Here In Your Arms

**A / N : This chapter title is from the song by HelloGoodbye. Some action now . . . enjoy! **

**Here In Your Arms **

Avery was on the other side of the room, knocking back drinks and glowering in Narcissa's general direction with Mulciber, who had always hated her. She stared at him for a moment, then resolutely turned her back on him.

"I'd love to dance."

She smiled at Lucius and took his hand, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. Her heart fluttered as he put his arm around her waist. Composing herself with immense effort, she smiled again.

"So – did you donate anything yet?" she teased.

"I made a donation last week," he replied coolly.

"Is that so?" She was finding it hard to keep a clear head, this close to him. He had a distractingly nice _smell, _for heaven's sake.

"It is indeed. I give the Ministry a lot of money, as a matter of fact."

Narcissa had the feeling he was teasing her, which could be a problem, as she was finding it hard to keep track of the conversation at the moment. His fingers were curled around her own in a way that made her feel ridiculously content. "Oh," she said, rather naively. "That's good of you."

"Good?" He laughed. "Well, I suppose it is. I have money, they need money – it works out surprisingly well for everyone. And it gives me a surprising amount of influence."

Cissy frowned. "Doesn't your father mind?"

"I shouldn't think so," Lucius smirked. "He signed everything over to me. Not that he remembers."

He spun her round. He was a good dancer, and they danced so well together. A perfect match.

"Oh. Well I don't suppose he has much need of money anyway."

"As long I keep buying him alcohol, I imagine not."

Narcissa cringed, but Lucius' wicked smile had returned. "So," he continued, "it looks like Avery isn't playing nicely anymore."

"Oh." Narcissa blushed again. "You heard that."

"Yes. I heard that much, and deduced a little more. I'm currently resisting the urge to bludgeon some manners into him."

"Don't."

The music had slowed, and their dancing had slowed accordingly. They were almost completely still now, and Lucius was still holding her in his arms.

He stared at her. He no longer seemed to be joking. "Give me a reason _not_ to," he said softly.

She met his gaze, but she honestly couldn't think of anything to say. So they stood, frozen, as a new song started up, and the couples around them began to dance again.

"Because," she murmered at last. "I don't love him." She swallowed nervously. "I -"

_Bang. _

The music stopped instantly, and in the same instant, every candle in the room was quenched and the dancefloor plunged into darkness.

_Crack. _

_Crack. _

_Crack. _

The unmistakeable sound of Apparition broke the silence, and people began to scream in panic. A moment later, they were given a _reason_ to scream, as vivid flares of light shot across the ceiling. Curses.

Narcissa shivered as the screams intensified, shrinking against Lucius for protection. He swore under his breath, and then he seized her hand and began to tow her forwards, in the general direction of the exit.

"I don't understand," she cried, fighting to make herself heard above the screaming, "What's happening?"

Lucius did not slow down. "Trouble," he said shortly.

"But -" The screams were getting louder all the time, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized she could see black clad figures, in masks. "I'm a pureblood!" she continued, really panicked now. "How can I be a target?"

Lucius stopped so suddenly she almost ran into him. He caught her just in time, and she found herself held in his arms once more. His grey eyes blazed like ice in hard sunlight.

"Just because you're not a target," he said tightly, "doesn't mean you won't get hurt."


	4. Ballroom Blitz

**A / N : Yay, another update! I'm feeling very inspired to write this right now, which is good. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. This chapter title is from a song by The Sweet. Enjoy! **

**Ballroom Blitz **

_Crack. _

_Crack. _

_Crack. _

Hooded figures popped into existence around them, encircling the terrified guests. Lucius knew what they were doing, of course. What he hadn't known was that they were planning on doing it _tonight. _Narcissa shrank back against him, petrified. They were still holding hands, half in the posture of the dance and half out of it. His arm was wrapped around her waist, and the hand she held in hers was being squeezed painfully tightly, pressed against her heart. As he turned away from the crowd, he caught a glimpse of a single slim figure, instantly recognizable to him despite the robes and the mask. A familiar, gleeful laugh rose above the noise of the crowd, and then Bellatrix raised her wand like a conductor's baton and began to aim. He knew from experience that she would not miss. Curses – vivid green and flaming red – lit the air around her, and he swore. He couldn't approach her here, not with this many witnesses. But if he didn't get Narcissa out of here soon, she would become an inadvertent victim of her own sister's spellwork.

Tightening his hold upon the girl, he gripped his wand and tried to twist into thin air, to apparate away from here. But the air was thick and impenetrable. Anti – Apparition Charms. Of course. Swearing yet again, he raised his wand instead and flung out a Shield Charm. That would provide some protection though he doubted it would last long, not under such constant assault. He pulled Narcissa into the shadows and began to drag her through the hall, ignoring her screams for her mother.

"She'll be fine!" he lied, struggling to make himself heard above the din.

Narcissa didn't seem to believe him. She began to writhe and twist in his arms, fighting to get free, but he ignored that too, simply tightening his hold on her. The light flickering against their faces had taken on a reddish-orange quality, and the air was thick and stifling with the sudden heat. Flames, he realized with a jolt.

Lucius lowered the Shield Charm. The scorching air hit them fully for the first time, and Narcissa gasped in shock. He raised his wand again and supported her as she crumpled, apparently running out of air. Then he began to blast people and falling debris out of their way, watching with an indifferent eye as he cut a path of destruction through the terrified mob. He was almost carrying Narcissa before long, but she seemed to come to her senses as they emerged into the cool night air, gasping for breath. He held onto her as she coughed, only loosening his hold when she began to breathe freely again.

They stayed silent for a moment, watching as the hungry orange flames chewed into the night sky and Healers and Aurors began to race towards the building. Narcissa leant against him, her head lolling against his shoulder. She shivered, cold or scared – probably both.

"Bella's in there, isn't she?" she said hoarsely.

He froze. Then, very slowly, he turned her round to face him. She was pale, her eyes huge and her cheeks streaked with ash and grime. "Why would you say that?" he asked carefully.

"Because." She met his gaze and held it, fearless. "I'm not as stupid as people think."

"Apparently not."

He realized, too late, that that didn't sound particularly nice, but Narcissa didn't seem to mind. She simply shrugged.

"It's useful, sometimes," she said. "Having people think you're stupid . . ."

She trailed off, staring at the burning building. "I hope she gets out alright," she whispered.

"She'll be fine."

Why did he keep telling her lies? For her peace of mind, or for his? Lucius wasn't sure he even knew anymore. Worse, she seemed to be able to tell somehow when he was doing it. She was watching him now, looking slightly sceptical, but to his relief, she chose not to argue the point.

She shook her head. "I should find my mother."

"Oh. Of course. I'm sure she's here somewhere."

Narcissa flashed him that not-quite smile again. "I _hope _she's here somewhere," she corrected.

Lucius grimaced. "That's what I meant."

She stared at him for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"Thank you," she breathed in his ear.

He wasn't sure what made him do it. But as she pulled away and turned to leave, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her close again, wiping a streak of ash from her cheek.

"You're welcome," he murmered.

Then he tilted her chin up, pulling her up onto her toes. And kissed her.


	5. Over Now

**A / N : The break-up chapter . . . . I actually feel quite sorry for Avery here. Chapter title is from the Busted song. Let me know what you think, as always! **

**Over Now **

"Narcissa! _Narcissa! _Are you even _listening _to me?"

Narcissa sat up with a jolt. "Of course I'm listening Mother," she said dutifully. "You were complaining about the food."

"Hm." Her mother pursed her lips disapprovingly. She didn't seem entirely convinced. "Well, yes. As I was saying . . . call this a hospital? I'm liable to contract food poisoning. I doubt there's a house elf in the place . . . they probably make all the food themselves, I shouldn't be surprised . . . "

She continued her rant, and Narcissa's eyes quickly glazed over once more. Not that she needed much excuse, really, to slip into daydreams again. She had been doing precious little else, all night – since Lucius had kissed her, in fact. Lucius had _kissed _her. She had to struggle not to laugh at her mother's continued bad spirits, when she remembered _that. _It was hard to take her mother's moaning seriously when she felt she might burst into butterflies at any minute. A smile tugged at her lips. He had just . . . kissed her. The strange thing was, it hadn't felt special. Well, it had, in a way – the swooping sensation in her stomach, for instance, the fireworks fizzing in her veins – but in another sense, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was so easy, to simply melt against him, and there wasn't any of the awkwardness there had sometimes been with Avery – no chipped teeth or bumped noses, _certainly _no repeat of the incident in which he had almost headbutted her. No. With Lucius it was more like . . . coming home. Better than that. It made her feel calm inside. When Lucius kissed her, she forgot there was anything she should be worried about.

"You aren't listening to me at all, are you?"

Cissy jumped. Her mother was narrowing her eyes in suspicion, and she realized a little too late that as well as paying her parent no attention, she was probably wearing a dreamy, far-away expresssion that was bound to pique her mother's curiosity.

"What's gotten into you?" Druella complained.

"Nothing," Narcissa said quickly. "Nothing at all. Really, Mother."

"Hm. Did you speak to your sister? Did you tell her I was in hospital?"

"Mother, you're being kept in for _observation. _But yes, I told her."

"And?" Druella demanded. "Is she coming to see me?"

Narcissa winced. "Er, no. Sorry," she added. "Rodolphus sends his regards though."

There was silence for a beat, as Druella digested this. Then she said, "Well, I assume she sent me flowers, at least."

Narcissa resisted the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty. "Who do you think sent the _lilies _to your sickbed?"

"Oh. That's nice, I suppose. We wouldn't want people to talk."

"No." Narcissa stared at the lilies for a moment, wondering how her mother could think _funeral _flowers were nice. Or even vaguely appropriate.

"I think I'm going to go and get some water," she said, keen to escape. Narcissa was fond of her mother, but only in small doses.

"Excellent," Druella said, pouncing on the excuse immediately. "You can go home and fetch me some food. And you can call in to see Christopher – I spoke to the healer and he's just down the hall!"

Narcissa blinked, perplexed. "Who?"

Druella frowned. "Don't be silly dear. Christopher!"

"Oh, you mean _Avery." _Her mother called Avery by his first name. Narcissa made a mental note of this. It only served to confirm her suspicions. "I didn't know he was here." She frowned as she left the room, deaf to her mother's protests. This was not going to be fun, but she would have to do it, and there was no point delaying.

Avery seemed, at first glance, to be asleep. But Narcissa knew the cosmos would never be that kind to her. She couldn't have Lucius kiss her and then wriggle out of dumping Avery, all in the same twenty-four hours. That wasn't the way her life worked. So she wasn't at all surprised when his eyes flickered open instantly, at just the softest mention of his name.

"You're here."

She smiled awkwardly at him. "Hi."

He stared at her, glassy-eyed with pain. "I didn't think you'd come," he groaned.

"How are you?"

"Yeah . . . I'm okay. It's nothing really, I just got a bit trampled. But they're low on Blood-Replenishing Potions, so . . . ." He twisted around a little, trying to sound nonchalant and rather spoiling the effect by wincing as she fluffed his pillows.

Cissy sighed. "We need to talk."

"We are talking."

"You know what I mean." Sometimes, Narcissa got the impression Avery was being deliberately dense. It took considerable effort to remember that she ought to be pitying him.

They stared at each other for a long moment. "This isn't working, is it?" Narcissa said, at the same moment Avery blurted out, "I sort of saw it coming."

Narcissa blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Avery grimaced. "Come on," - he laughed bitterly - "you're dumping me, right?" He frowned into his blankets. "I can't say I didn't see it coming. I mean, I lose my temper a lot, and the way you look at Lucius Malfoy . . . . I'm not _blind. _I just can't compete with that. You look at him like he strung out every star in the sky, just for you. I saw it last night. When you were dancing with him . . ."

He lapsed into silence. Narcissa swallowed. Suddenly, despite everything, she didn't need to remind herself to feel sorry for Avery.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But . . . it wouldn't have worked, you know? I mean," she laughed nervously, "you still call me _Black _for heaven's sake! And you called me a bitch. In _public. _We'd be a disaster, if we got married. You know we would."

"Yeah, I know." He shifted uncomfortably, a brief spasm of pain clouding his features. "But you're so . . . pretty. And funny, and all the rest. And I always knew you wouldn't want to marry me . . . so I guess I wanted to get as much as I could from you, before you figured out you're too good for me."

"Oh. I'm . . . . I'm really sorry."

She couldn't really find anything else to say. She hadn't expected him to react like this. He had to be on quite a strong cocktail of healing potions.

"Aw. Don't get upset," he said, grinning at her. "_That's _not gonna make anything better. If you want to make me feel better, you could kiss me. That might help."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. A _ridiculously _strong cocktail of healing potions, apparently.

"Come on," - he grabbed her hand, and suddenly he didn't look so cheerful anymore. He looked slightly desperate. "I can't believe I'm saying this . . . . please?"

Cissy stared at him. He looked pathetic. And what did she have to lose, really? She sighed. Nothing she wouldn't be rid of anyway, the moment she left this room. There was no need to be cruel. So she prised his hand away and sat down on the bed beside him.

"Alright."

She kissed him, gently, and then she stood up. "Take care," she murmered.

"Yeah." He blinked rapidly, avoiding her eye. "You too," he said thickly.

Narcissa nodded once, and then she left the room. She did not look back.


	6. Gives You Hell

**A / N : I was supposed to be devoting all my attention to a chapter of my other fic, but I couldn't resist updating this too, so . . . . enjoy! Chapter title is from the song by The All-American Rejects. Let me know what you think, as always. **

**Gives You Hell**

The sun was setting over Malfoy Manor, and inside the house, it was turning cold. But out in the grounds, where golden sunlight still spilled across the grass, the warmth had yet to fade from the air. And inside the hothouse, on a May evening, it was as warm as anything. Too warm, really, for arguments. But the conversation between Lucius, Bellatrix, and her husband Rodolphus was turning into just that. An argument.

Lucius frowned. "I'm simply pointing out," he said testily, "that you could have killed her."

Bellatrix was reclining cat-like on a bench, soaking in the heat with her face turned towards the glassy ceiling. At Lucius' words, she scowled. "And I'm _simply pointing out," _she said dangerously, "that she's fine. So I don't see the problem."

She closed her eyes again, twirling a lily in one hand.

"The problem is that if I hadn't been there, she could have been killed! I don't understand why you _don't _see that as a problem. You knew she was going! Didn't you even _consider _warning her away? She's your sister!"

Bellatrix sat up abruptly, snapping the stem of the lily. "_Exactly. _She's _my _sister, which makes it _my _business. I'll do what I like with her, and it's nothing to do with you! Why do you _always _have to interfere?"

"Because," Lucius returned her scowl with one of his own, "I care about her."

"Oh, I know you do." Bellatrix's tone had hardened, her eyes ice-cold. The temperature seemed to suddenly drop a few degrees. Lucius, however, did not have the patience to indulge her fits of temper.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked irritably.

Bellatrix stood up, shaking off Rodolphus' restraining hand. "It means that I don't like it," she hissed, glaring at him. "I know all about her little visits, and her little crush, and I don't like it. I don't like the way your face looks, when you talk about her. I don't like that stupid expression she gets, when she talks about _you. _Like a sunbeam just hit her in the face. I don't like it, so it's going to stop."

Lucius stared at her for a moment, then he laughed. "Don't be so ridiculous," he scoffed. "You're not my mother, Bellatrix, and you certainly aren't Narcissa's. You can't order people to stop behaving a certain way, simply because you're offended by it."

Bellatrix reeled backwards, as though he had physically struck her. "I can do what I like!" she cried, livid. "You can't have Narcissa! She's not yours to just . . . take!"

"Take?" Lucius rasied an eyebrow. "Bellatrix, she's not a doll. If she isn't mine to take, then she isn't yours either. And besides - isn't it up to her?"

_Crack. _

It appeared he had finally pushed Bellatrix too far. Her mouth had fallen open, in an attitude of horrified disgust, and then she had slapped him across the face. As he staggered backwards, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the hothouse, disapparating without looking back.

"Ow." Lucius rubbed his jaw, annoyed but not particularly surprised. He turned to Rodolphus. "Can you shed any light on that for me? Or am I going to have to spend the rest of the evening puzzling it out?"

The other man laughed. "Good luck to you." Observing Lucius' irritation, he sighed. "She's jealous."

"She's what?"

"Jealous," Rodolphus repeated. "For a lot of reasons." He began to pluck the bells from a foxglove, dropping them desolately onto the floor and crushing them beneath the heel of his boot. "First of all, she hates seeing other people in love. Especially people who actually have a shot at happiness. Secondly, it wounds her vanity, that you fell for her sister -" he smiled thinly - "but you turned her down."

"She told you about that?" Lucius asked, incredulous. The incident in question had happened so long ago he had almost forgotten it.

"Why do you think I like you?" Rodolphus grinned. "Yeah, she told me about it. Anyway . . . It all plays back into this thing she has, this way of looking at things . . . . it's interesting. She thinks," he smirked again, "that because she's known you for so long, and because Narcissa's the only member of her family left that she actually likes . . . well, she thinks she somehow _owns _you both. It irritates her, the idea that she can't control you. And the idea that the two of you might fall in love and not need her at all . . . ."

Lucius swore under his breath. "And what am I supposed to do about that?" he demanded.

Rodolphus grinned again, apparently enjoying the situation. "Well, there are two options. Either she'll accept it, and find something else to be angry about, or she'll get more and more annoyed and exact a nasty revenge on you both."

Lucius stared. Rodolphus shrugged. "Don't ask me to explain any more," he said. "There's a limit to how much I can comprehend, believe it or not. Most of what goes on in her head is a complete mystery to me. But-" he clapped Lucius on the shoulder - "I wouldn't worry about it, yet."

Lucius frowned. "Why not?"

"Because," Rodolphus wheeled him round, to face the grounds. "You have a visitor. A very pretty visitor."

He disapparated, still laughing, just as Narcissa stepped into the last remaining patch of sunlight on the lawn.


	7. Kiss Me

**A / N : Update! Chapter title is from the song by Sixpence None The Richer. Let me know if you liked it, as always! **

**Kiss Me **

"They're dead."

Lucius blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Narcissa smiled, raising the bunch of wilted flowers in her hand.

"The flowers," she elaborated. "You forgot to water them."

"Oh." He frowned. "I see. Don't worry - I'll punish the house-elves."

Narcissa looked at him askance for a moment, then she laughed a little. "If you insist." Her forehead creased, as she cast a glance around the hothouse. "I thought I saw Rodolphus. What was Bella doing here?"

"Oh," Lucius hesitated, caught off-guard. "What – what makes you assume she was here?" A moment later he realized how pointless that question was. Rodolphus, after all, tended to follow where Bellatrix led. Narcissa raised an eyebrow. Apparently she thought the question equally unnecessary. Which left Lucius in an uncomfortable situation. Should he tell her the truth, or would that simply worry her without cause? After all, if Bellatrix found something else to feel irritated about, there was every chance she would forget this. He considered the situation. Narcissa, apparently, could tell when he was lying to her. But surely withholding a portion of the truth wasn't the same as lying? He took a deep breath.

"It was nothing. Your sister and I had an argument, because she took offence to something that was really none of her concern."

"Oh." Narcissa nodded slowly. She turned away from him and began to wander through the hothouse, gathering orchids to replace the dead daffodils. Lucius watched her as the silence ballooned uncomfortably.

"Is . . . is something wrong?" Perhaps Narcissa's sensitivity to lies was more acute than he'd assumed.

She turned around, glancing at him for an instant and then looking down at her shoes. "I broke up with Avery."

"Oh." What he wanted to ask was why this would be even remotely upsetting, but he had the feeling that would seem insensitive. His silence, however, seemed to speak volumes, because she still hadn't looked at him. Eventually he realized he was going to have to say something. "I . . . I thought you didn't . . ."

"Love him?" She met his gaze at last. "I didn't. I mean . . I don't." She sighed, frowning at the flowers in her hands. "It still hurts though," she said softly. He doubted she could even see the orchids anymore. Her eyes were shining, threatening tears. And he couldn't stand it. The sight of her almost in tears provoked an odd response in him. A strange feeling, as though something had twisted painfully in his chest.

"Don't cry," he said softly.

She sniffed. "Sorry. I didn't mean . . . it's not the same as leaving someone you love. That feels like having a portion of your heart ripped out. This is more like . . . breaking a finger. But . . . it hurts."

A tear slid down her cheek, and he realized she wasn't talking about Avery any more. Was she talking about her sister, or her father? He couldn't be sure.

"Have you eaten?" He wasn't sure what made him ask.

"I . . . I'm not hungry." She was avoiding his eye again, which wasn't good, as he had learned from past experience that when Narcissa wasn't happy, she didn't eat. _Oh no you don't. _He crossed the room and took the flowers from her hands.

"Stay and have dinner."

"I . . . really, I'm not . . . I have to bring my mother some food, and get back to school for the exams . . . "

Lucius put the flowers down and took her hands instead, pulling her close. He tilted her chin up, so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. After a moment she relaxed, and her expression cleared. "Sorry," she murmured.

"For nothing," he said quietly, toying with a strand of her hair.

"Mm." She smiled, and he was relieved to hear a teasing note in her voice once more as she whispered in his ear. "I had a question for you actually."

He arched an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

She drew back, fixing him with a piercing stare. "That night, at the Ministry - why did you kiss me?" she challenged.

He stared at her, taking in the slight flush colouring her cheeks pink, the clear pale blue of her eyes.

"Because," he said slowly, "I couldn't think of a reason not to."

And he kissed her again.


	8. Boys and Girls

**A / N : Just a quick thank you to Beth, my anon reviewer, because I couldn't reply to your review another way. It really means a lot and I hope you continue to enjoy the story! **

**Also, remember my other fics? And my non-canon ages? Well, it's not hugely important, but Snape and Narcissa are in the same year (which you might have guessed anyway from the mention of Mulciber and Avery) and are on relatively friendly terms. Just in case anyone wonders a little about the interaction in this chapter. Not very important, as this is more of a fun scene than anything else, (the Author needed cheering up) but I thought I'd mention it, in case anyone considers it odd. **

**This chapter title is from the Good Charlotte song. Let me know what you think, as always! **

**Boys and Girls**

"Hard to believe, really, that we're here at last – your last ever Potions class! Seven years, and they passed in a flash! Whoever would have thought it . . . ." Slughorn paused in his address to the class, looking distinctly misty-eyed.

Narcissa smothered a giggle, and kicked Severus Snape under the table. "Is he _crying?" _she mouthed.

Snape smirked. "Looks like it. Not that I can see _why." _They were silent for a moment, both watching Slughorn fumble in his pockets for a handkerchief, and then Snape muttered "You know Avery and Parkinson are-" he pulled a face, apparently too disgusted to continue the sentence, and Narcissa glanced down the table, to be confronted by an amusing sight. Priscilla Parkinson had slipped her feet out of her shoes and was brazenly running them up Avery's leg. He, meanwhile, was staring straight ahead, as though the rising damp on the dungeon walls had suddenly become immensely interesting. The higher Priscilla's shameless feet wandered, the more frozen his expression became. By the time her toes had crept to thigh level, his features looked as if they had been carved in stone, but his cheeks were flaming. Narcissa stared, torn somewhere between amusement and annoyance. Eventually, unable to watch any more, she raised her wand. A slippery crocodile heart left over from their last-ever Potions assignment flipped into Priscilla's lap, overturning an inkpot in the process. Priscilla jumped as ink soaked her jumper, and Avery let out a yelp. Narcissa looked away quickly, hiding her smile behind her hair. _Some people, _she thought, _have no class. _

She turned to voice this opinion to Snape, but he was no longer paying her any attention. His gaze seemed to have been magnetically drawn to Lily Evans, a red-headed Gryffindor who was giggling at something James Potter had whispered in her ear. As Narcissa watched, Potter took advantage of Slughorn's sudden need to wipe his eyes, and pecked Evans swiftly on the cheek. She blushed fiercely and swatted him away, but Narcissa noted she didn't look particularly affronted. Snape had apparently reached the same conclusion. He wrenched his eyes away from them and instead stared morosely into his cauldron, as though seriously considering drowning himself in its depths. Cissy frowned. There were times, she had learnt, when it payed to let people believe you were stupid. Then there were times when it paid to let people believe you were stupid, blind, and entirely ignorant of your surroundings. She allowed Snape thirty carefully counted seconds of self-pity, and then she waved a hand not-so-subtly in front of his face. He came back to earth with a bump.

"What?"

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes with difficulty, Narcissa sat up a little straighter in her seat.

"I have news," she said quietly.

Snape, she knew from experience, felt no need to control the more sarcastic elements of his personality. "If you're about to tell me that you and Avery are no longer on course for wedded bliss," he said, his lip curling at the last two words, "then I can't say I'm surprised."

Narcissa stared. "I've only been back a day!" she complained. "Why is the demise of my relationship already public knowledge?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "It's not so much public knowledge," he said slowly, "as public _assumption." _He jerked his head at Priscilla Parkinson, who was demonstrating a remarkable resilience to the resentful look Avery was sending her. She was, in fact, batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him across the table. Narcissa turned away from them, privately feeling it was a little late for Priscilla to play demure.

"So yes, Avery and I are no longer together," she said irritably, "but that wasn't my news. I think that must have the most widely predicted break-up of all time. It doesn't really _count _as news. No. My _news," _- she lowered her voice, "is that Lucius kissed me." She blushed, delighted.

Snape groaned. "Why are you telling _me _this?" he said despairingly. "What makes you think I care?"

Narcissa kicked him under the table again. "Because," she said. "This is important to me, so I'm telling someone who's capable of keeping a secret. And seeing as you aren't remotely interested in my-"

"Romantic escapades."

"-you're the perfect person to tell."

"If you say so," Snape said dryly.

She smiled. "I do."

"Well," Snape said at last, "I suppose it saves me a question. I was going to ask if you were allergic to something. Your face is-" he shuddered a little- "_pink_."

Narcissa stared at him. "Sometimes," she said at last, "I despair of you. I really do."


	9. Good Luck

**A / N : Ah, exams . . . . They're in the air right now, aren't they? Let me know if you like the chapter, as always! Chapter title is from the song by Basement Jaxx. **

**Good Luck **

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe the NEWTs are starting today! And I don't know _anything! _I'm going to fail _everything!" _

Priscilla exhaled dramatically and dropped into the seat next to Narcissa with a groan. Her hefty Charms book hit the table with a thump, making a nearby rack of toast jump. Narcissa made a non-committal sound, smothering a groan of her own. Honestly, how much pity did Priscilla expect? It wasn't, after all, as if she had done any revision over the past few days. No. Instead, she had dedicated her time to helping Avery "revise", in full view of the entire Slytherin common room. Personally, Narcissa wouldn't be at all surprised if Priscilla failed every exam. Her idea of revision wasn't quite compatible with Cissy's. Not unless Avery had a stack of Transfiguration notes stuffed down his throat, and Priscilla had pioneered the art of reading Braille with her tongue.

Narcissa put another slice of toast on her plate and reached for the blackberry jam. She felt curiously calm about the exams. She had done as much revision as she could, and besides - it wasn't as if she was planning on a high-flying career, requiring a preposterous amount of NEWTs. The only expectations she was facing for the exams were her own, and that was strangely freeing. There was another reason she felt calm about the exams, of course . . . .

Priscilla stopped whining abruptly, her eyes widening comically.

"Who sent you _those?" _she gasped, and it would have been hard to miss the jealousy in her voice, even if it wasn't already written all over her face.

Cissy cut her toast into triangles, feigning ignorance. "Who sent me what?" she asked calmly, having learnt long ago that the best way to irritate Priscilla was simply not to respond to her amateur dramatics. She had never liked Priscilla, or any of the girls in her year. They had tormented her when she was younger, but in her third year a rather unexpected thing had happened. Cissy had stopped caring for their opinions, only to find that all of a sudden, they wanted to be friends. Becoming pretty, she had learnt - as opposed to merely sweet – brought with it instant popularity. And popularity, in Cissy's social circles, was accompanied by an entirely new set of politics. All of which meant that, bizarrely, the girls she secretly loathed had become (on paper anyway) her closest friends. So while she might be obliged to put up with Priscilla's backhanded compliments, backstabbing tendencies and ill-disguised jealousy . . . that didn't mean she couldn't find one hundred and one ways to quietly annoy her in return.

"The _flowers!" _Priscilla squawked. "They're . . . they're just . . . they're _beautiful." _She lapsed into an awestruck silence, staring at the bouquet in wonder.

A small smile tugged at Narcissa's lips. They _were _beautiful. White lilies, and pinkish-orange orchids, and in the middle of all - a bright splash of yellow. Daffodils.

"Who sent you them?" Priscilla demanded. When frustrated, she was even more obnoxious than usual.

Narcissa poured herself a cup of tea, lazily adding sugar. "A friend," she said nonchalantly. "For luck."

Priscilla looked as if she might explode with curiosity. Irritated by Narcissa's refusal to elaborate, she concluded rather lamely with - "Oh. Well that's nice. I mean -" an idea had apparently just struck her. She smirked. "It's nice, of whoever it was. You must be even more worried about the exams than _me, _if you need someone to send you _flowers _for luck_ . . ." _She trailed off, looking delighted at the thought.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Somehow, Priscilla's jibes bothered her even less than the impending exams. "Oh look," she said sweetly, "I think Avery wants to wish _you_ luck!"

Priscilla squealed and leapt into his arms, glueing her lips to his. Cissy smirked as she finished her toast. It was hard, really, not to feel slightly superior, given that Avery kept opening his eyes and glancing over Priscilla's shoulder to see if she was watching them. She smiled until he turned pink and shut his eyes again, and then she let her gaze wander to the flowers. Nestled between tureens of dull grey porridge and bundles of boring brown-paper-wrapped parcels, they stood out. A bright splash of colour as distinctive (though Narcissa didn't know it) as her own fair hair in a crowd.

Leaving Avery and Parkinson behind, she scooped the flowers into her arms and left the Great Hall, depositing them safely on her bedside table. Then she headed back upstairs again. Seventh-year students were milling about in the Entrance Hall, cramming in a few more minutes of revision before the exam began. But the piece of card Narcissa was studying had nothing to do with exams. It had, in fact, only a few words on it.

_You see? _It said. _I remembered to water the flowers. I suppose you learn something new every day. Good luck. Lucius M. _

Cissy resisted the urge to giggle at the unnecessary 'M'. After all - how many people did she know called _Lucius_?

She ran a finger over the initials, and smiled. Priscilla had been wrong. She didn't need luck. She had more than enough of it already.


	10. Fascination

**A / N : Pandora, if anyone is wondering, is indeed the mother of Blaise, the Zabini in Draco's era. I'm not sure if you would call her an OC, because she is mentioned in the books. She apparently had seven husbands, all of whom died mysteriously, leaving her in possession of an obscene amount of gold. I see her as resembling a human Venus fly-trap, and I called her Pandora, because with a story like _that, _she sounds like trouble. Something her name ought to reflect! **

**The idea to put Narcissa in a different colour came from a PMing conversation I had after chapter two with xDoubleIndemnity. Which got me thinking, and indirectly inspired this little scene. Thanks Elaine! **

**Chapter title is from the song by Alphabeat. Reviews are always welcome. Enjoy! **

**Fascination**

"Well well! If it isn't Lucius Malfoy! Tell me, when did _you_ finish your NEWTs?"

Lucius turned around slowly, drink in hand. His questioner was the hostess of this particular party, Pandora Zabini. A tall black woman with sharp cheekbones and thick, glossy hair, she was immaculately put together and swathed in a haze of perfume which would have been enough to rob a man of his senses even without the accompanying good looks. Lucius, however, was quite immune to her charms, having spent four years in the company of Bellatrix Black. Women didn't get much more dangerous than her.

"I finished my NEWTs four years ago," he said smoothly, "as you well know. I dont know why you invited me."

Only Pandora would throw a party to celebrate others in her social circle finishing their exams. Lucius had never been sure if this tendency of hers was borne of selflessness or a simple desire to party at any given opportunity. She laughed.

"Oh come now," she said poutingly. "You know as well as I do that a party is only as amusing as the guests in attendence. Avery? Mulciber? That Parkinson girl? Dull, dull, dull. No. I invited _you, _darling, because I knew that if you came, your little Cissy would come too. And she's such a darling."

Lucius choked. "My little _who?" _he managed at last.

Pandora slapped him on the arm. It stung. "_Cissy. _You know. The Black girl. Tiny blonde thing. She dances like a dream."

Lucius frowned. "Yes, I know who she is," he said irritably. "But I have no idea why you would call her _mine." _

Pandora giggled. "Don't play coy with me," she breathed, leaning in close. "A little birdy told me-" she smiled - "that you finally noticed the only girl for you has been under your nose all this time."

Lucius scowled. "What was the name of this bird?"

"What does that matter?" Pandora widened her eyes in faux-innocence.

"Because I might like to wring its neck."

Pandora laughed again, a throaty sound. Then she leaned in close once more and whispered, "I wouldn't bother with all that, if I were you. Poison is so much cleaner." Her smile widened even further, and Lucius was suddenly struck by how shark-like it seemed.

"Tell me," he said slowly, "is this your fourth husband?"

Pandora pulled back from him and laughed again, throwing her head back in carefree abandon. "Lucius, darling! Please! He's my _fifth." _

She winked, and Lucius swallowed. "Of course," he murmered. "Your fifth. How forgetful of me . . ."

Thankfully, he was distracted at that moment by the entrance of another beautiful young woman. This one, however, was fair haired and infinitely more innocent than Pandora. Narcissa. She spotted him almost instantly and smiled. Before Lucius really knew what was happening, the muscles of his face were moving too, in something that he would have called a smile, though it didn't bear any resemblence to the expression he usually gave that name to. It seemed to split his entire face in two, and disturbingly, he couldn't seem to make it a little more restrained. At least, not while simultaneously staring at Narcissa. And then she pushed through the crowd, and he saw, for the first time, what she was wearing. He choked.

He heard, dimly, Pandora's voice in his ear.

"Doesn't she look divine?" she said with a gloating laugh. "Now Lucius, darling, do play nice. Don't forget to compliment her. You really have no idea how long I've been trying to get her out of those pastels . . . . Cissy!"

She broke off, flinging her arms around Narcissa's neck. The younger girl smiled, tolerating it, but over Pandora's shoulder, she rolled her eyes at Lucius. He tried to smile back. He really did. But he seemd to have lost all control over his face now, and he could only hope that his shock wasn't reflected in his expression. She was wearing red. Blood red. The colour was one he had honestly never imagined on her, though seeing it now, he couldn't think why. The porcelein white of her skin, the yellow of her hair . . . and the colour. The _red. _There were words, he knew, for that colour, and there were words in his head (lots of them, in fact) for Narcissa. But somehow, he couldn't put the two together. So he simply stared at her, stunned into silence, as Pandora babbled on and on, her words dancing just beyond his comprehension.

"So as I was saying to darling Lucius, a party just isn't a party without the right guests. And that means a Black girl! I would say a Black boy, but Orion's eldest is turning out quite the blood traitor-in training, and little Regulus is too young to have any fun. Bellatrix is the life of any party, of course, but _getting _her there . . . . I might as well whistle down the wind. She always seems to have something else to do. But not you! No, _you're _my darling, really. Such a perfect little thing . . . oh! If it isn't the latest Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Prophet!" She frowned. "I don't recall inviting him. And he's such a dreadful snoop . . . do excuse me. Have fun! Enjoy yourselves!" She pushed Narcissa in Lucius' general direction, looking immensely pleased with herself, and departed, along with her accompanying aura of perfume. Strangely, this didn't make it any easier to breathe. It took Lucius a moment to realize Narcissa was talking.

" . . . for the flowers," she said shyly. "They were lovely."

She waited, expecting a response. But yet again, the necessary words wouldn't leave his throat. If he had to speak, Lucius had the feeling a faintly strangled sound was all that would emerge. Narcissa frowned.

"Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

"Mmm." He swallowed the rest of his drink in one. He had the funny feeling he was going to need the extra fortitude.

Narcissa blushed, smoothing the silk of her dress with a small, self-conscious smile. "You don't like it, do you?" she said nervously. "I told her it didn't suit me, but then she said I was really the whole reason she was having the party, and I didn't want to be rude . . ."

She trailed off unhappily. Lucius frowned, carefully setting down his drink. Christopher Avery had just entered the room, that obnoxious Parkinson girl twined around his arm. Narcissa's mother stood on the other side of the room, beady eyes fixed upon her daughter. Pandora had one hand seductively on the arm of a journalist, half-focused on her easy flattery but with one eye nonetheless upon Narcissa. Most of the room, in fact, was watching them. There really couldn't be a worse time to do this. But then again, would there ever be a better time? People, in Lucius' experience, tended to gossip either way. It might be better to give them something to talk about.

So he pulled Narcissa close, touching his thumb gently to the red gloss on her lips. Just for an instant.

"Actually," he murmered, "I was wondering what you were trying to _do _to me."

He smiled at her confusion, and then he pulled her even closer, so that they were much too close for anyone to mistake the moment for friendship. Heads had begun to turn towards them, curious eyes searching them out, but he didn't care. He didn't care about Avery, or Pandora, or Druella Black. In that moment, he didn't care about anything. He didn't care if the whole room was watching. He didn't care if they would be a source of gossip for weeks on end after this. For all he cared, Pandora's journalist friend could put it on the front page of the Prophet.

He stopped caring, and kissed Narcissa.


	11. Strawberry Swing

**A / N : This chapter title is from the song by Coldplay, which makes me think of Lucius and Narcissa every time I hear it. I don't know why. But I love the song and I've been dying to use it in this fic for a while now. So here it is! **

**Strawberry Swing **

Three weeks into sweltering June, and Narcissa had already decided this was the best summer of her life. She giggled as Lucius tossed her a strawberry. They were standing in the grounds of Malfoy Manor, in the shade of an oak tree. And Narcissa had just found a reason to smile.

"You have a swing!" she called, delighted.

"I do?" Lucius sounded surprised, but he was smiling at her in a way that indicated he found her excitement amusing. He watched her bite into the strawberry and sit down on the swing. She began to swing back and forth, closing her eyes and throwing back her head so that the sunlight could soak into her skin. Lucius laughed.

"You know," he said, "I'm not sure how old that thing is. Perhaps you should be careful."

Narcissa slowed down a little, pulling a face at her companion. In her opinion, Lucius was far too serious. About swings, about life, about _everything. _"I'll be fine," she said.

Lucius rolled his eyes in response and threw another strawberry at her. She giggled as he missed, and the fruit bounced off her white lace sundress, falling to the ground. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he laughed again.

"My aim is usually better."

"Of course it is." She ducked as the final strawberry sailed past her head. "I see what you mean!" she teased. Unfortunately, her moment of superiority evaporated almost instantly as the swing finally proved its age and gave way beneath her. She shrieked in shock, hitting the grass with a thud.

"Narcissa!" Lucius was standing above her in an instant, sounding serious again. "Are you alright?"

In truth, she was fine. A little shocked, perhaps, but the grass had cushioned her fall. She doubted there would be so much as a bruise. Still. He didn't know that . . . . Smothering her sudden smile, Cissy feigned a groan. As Lucius leant closer, she opened her eyes and seized his arm, pulling him down onto the ground with her. She laughed again as he swore, and then she was kissing him, breathless and laughing, not caring about the grass stains on her dress or anything else, and suddenly a thought struck her – if she were to die right now, she would die happier than she'd been in her entire life.

She pulled away from him, still breathless, and fell backwards again, closing her eyes as the realization of what this really meant hit her. She didn't ever want to let go of this moment. It was the single most perfect thing . . . .

"Narcissa?"

Lucius' curious voice brought her out of her reverie. He was frowning at her. "Are you alright? Did you hit your head?"

"No." She rolled over onto her stomach and stared at him, contemplating. _I think I love you. _She wanted to say it, but part of her was afraid to. So she settled for part of the truth, to distract her while she plucked up the courage to say the words out loud. "Do you ever think about dying?" she asked distantly.

Lucius frowned again. "No," he said slowly. "Not really. Why – do you?"

Narcissa plucked a daisy out of the grass and considered the question. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I don't know why. By the time I die, I'll probably be too mad to care."

"Mad?"

"It runs in the family," she explained. She frowned. "You know, Bella once had this idea . . . . she told me everyone is mad, and the ones who try the hardest to seem normal end up-"

He interrupted her. "You're not Bellatrix."

"She's my sister. How different can we be? And she wasn't always like this. She used to be . . ."

Lucius' fingers were skimming her jaw, tracing the line of her neck. At her words, they began to shake, just a little. He dropped his hand quickly.

"You're not Bellatrix," he repeated. "You're not a killer."

"You are." She didn't know what made her say it.

Lucius rolled onto his back and stared past her, up at the canopy of leaves overhead. "I don't want to talk about this," he said softly.

He was avoiding her eye, looking upwards, and Cissy felt a sudden urge to sweep away the leaves overhead so that she could see the sky. As if letting the sunlight chase away the shadows on his face would change anything.

"But I do." She swallowed. "I want to talk about it."

"And I don't."

Cissy sat up. Suddenly, despite the warmth, she felt a little cold. "Then when _do _we talk about it?" she asked.

Lucius closed his eyes. "If I have my way? Never."

"Never." She stood up, suddenly furious, and Lucius opened his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She had to fight to keep her voice steady. "I've just never understood why everyone I love feels they need to lie to me." She turned on her heel and began to walk away, because anger was coursing through her and if she stayed much longer, she was going to cry. She could feel it.

"Narcissa, wait!"

He was calling her, but she didn't stop. She didn't know why it bothered her so much, why she was so upset, though she had a funny feeling it had something to with the fact that blurting it out midway through a disagreement wasn't how she had imagined telling Lucius she loved him.

"Narcissa!"

Lucius caught her by the arm, and she froze, but she didn't turn around. "If you do decide you want to talk," she said thickly, "you know where to find me."

And she disapparated.

**A / N : Aw, a fight. I feel terrible. But it's necessary. Let me know what you think, as always!**

**To Beth – Hi again! Thanks so much for reviewing, and I can't actually believe no-one has ever acknowledged your reviews. That's incredibly rude, so I'm sorry on your behalf. I always try to reply to anon reviews in the Author's Notes, though if they come at the end of a fic, there isn't much I can do. I think you can actually get an account here even if you don't publish any stories, quite a few of my readers are like that. All you need is an email account. Hope it helps! I'll keep replying to your reviews either way, of course. I'm glad your exams are over and I hope you have a good summer. :) I'm so pleased you're enjoying the story so far, and that you like my not-strictly-canon ages! I have to admit, I mostly thought they'd prove an irritation to my readers, so it means a lot to hear that someone enjoys them. Pandora was a very entertaining character to write, but I don't have any plans to cameo her again. That said, who knows? I know the wider plot arc of the story but I tend to throw in little details like that as I'm writing, so she could return. Thanks again! **


	12. It Must Be Love

**A / N : Time for a little drinking game now . . . . Chapter title is from the song by Madness. Enjoy! **

**It Must Be Love **

"So where's your old man anyway? I haven't seen him in a few days. I'm starting to miss his drunken attempts to duel me."

The speaker was twenty-four year old Rodolphus Lestrange. Lucius had been immersed in yet another mundane task, designed to take his mind off Narcissa and her sudden departure, when Lestrange came to call. It was the second time in two days he had turned up unexpectedly, as a matter of fact. Lucius didn't particularly mind the company, but he was starting to suspect Bellatrix had something to do with these social calls. She was probably sending her husband to check up on him. After all, she was bound to have heard about the events of Pandora's post-exam party by now, and her three-week silence on that score seemed somewhat ominous.

"Oh . . ." Lucius dragged himself back into the present with an effort. "My father is in St Mungos. Apparently he has dragon pox."

"Apparently?" Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. "You mean you haven't gone to see him?"

"He's always in St Mungos," Lucius said lightly. "Cirrhosis, heart attacks, minor organ failure . . ." He rolled his eyes. "I'll go when I have the time."

"If you say so. Aren't you finished signing cheques yet?"

Lucius added another flourish to his signature. "I'll be done in a minute."

"A minute you say? Right." Rodolphus wandered over to the mantlepiece and fiddled with the clock. The long hand snapped off. "Done," he said smugly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for vandalizing my home," he replied dryly.

Rodolphus shrugged. "You're welcome. So – do you love her?"

"What?" The question was so unexpected that for a moment Lucius wondered if he was hearing things. "What did you say?"

Rodolphus grinned. "_Narcissa," _he said, placing an exaggerated emphasis on each word, as though speaking to someone stupid, or foreign, or both. "Do – you – _love – _her?"

Lucius reddened. "I – I don't think that's really – I mean-"

"You don't know. Fair enough, I suppose . . ." Rodolphus looked as if he were about to start laughing. He mastered himself at last, and raised his wand, summoning two shot glasses and a bottle. He pushed a glass into the younger man's hand, ignoring Lucius' questioning look. "We're going to play a drinking game," he announced.

"I really don't think-"

Rodolphus cut him off. "One drinking session won't turn you into an alcoholic. So – are you in?"

Lucius gave a grudging nod of consent, and Lestrange grinned, filling both their glasses. "Okay, so the rules of the game are simple. If you agree with a statement, you drink. If I agree, I drink too. I answer with regard to Bella, you answer with regard to Narcissa. Understand?"

Lucius nodded. "You love Bellatrix," he pointed out.

"Exactly. So, by the end of the game, you should know if you love little Cissy too." He raised his glass. "Ready?"

Lucius nodded again. "Ready."

"Alright then! Here we go. First things first. Can you picture her smile, right now, without even trying?"

He drained his glass in one, and Lucius followed his lead.

"When she laughs, you can't hear anything else. And when you see her, you feel like you can't look away. Even if you can't see her . . . sometimes you still know she's there."

He and Lucius swallowed at the same time. Rodolphus grinned and then refilled their glasses twice. They drained them and Rodolphus poured another drink.

"You're sleeping with her, or you _want _to sleep with her." Lucius raised his glass, but to his surprise Rodolphus gripped his arm, preventing him from drinking yet. "_And _you want to stick around afterwards," he concluded.

The alcohol had hit the back of Lucius' throat before he had time to think about it. Rodolphus laughed.

"Just one more." He smiled slowly. "You can see yourself marrying her," he said softly.

Lucius groaned. But he threw back his final drink anyway. "Yes," he muttered.

The corner of Lestrange's mouth turned up in a smile. "You're in trouble. And do you know why?"

Lucius was beginning to feel a little disorientated. His head had begun to pound, and he was starting to regret allowing Rodolphus to talk him into a drinking game. "I'm in _love," _he said disbelievingly. Rodolphus clapped him on the back.

"Welcome to my world," he said mockingly. "You find yourself behaving like a lunatic on a regular basis, you can't really concentrate on anything and our master treats you as if you're soft in the head." He gave a sarcastic laugh. "It's a wonderful life."


	13. Breathe

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Taylor Swift. If Bellatrix seems a little unhinged and even child-like in this chapter - that's intentional. I can't explain why she behaves like this without spoiling one of my other fics, but it should become at least partly clear, by the end of this fic, why she is the way she is. Let me know what you think, as always. Crossed wires are interesting to write about. :) And things are getting messy now . . . it's not called 'Tangled' for no reason, haha. Just keep an eye on who's telling who what, who's not telling who what and who's unhappy with what. Hopefully that won't be too hard. Enjoy! **

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**Breathe **

She thought he would come and find her. Maybe not right away, but still . . . she thought he would come. She had been so sure of it, so convinced that he would stop and think, would see where she was coming from . . . She had never even considered what she might do if he didn't. A day passed, and Narcissa thought nothing of it. After all, he might not understand why she was so upset, he might need time to figure it out. Two days passed, and she began to think he might be angry. Or stubborn. Maybe he thought he was right not to tell her anything, maybe he didn't want to talk about it for reasons that had nothing to do with her. Maybe she'd hit a nerve. After all, who liked to talk about murder?

By the third day of silence, she couldn't breathe. She woke up in the night, again and again, and she couldn't find a reason why. Her mother's attempts to make conversation went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't eat, couldn't sleep . . . after a week, she felt as if she were slowly suffocating.

And then Bella came to call.

Cissy looked up automatically at the sound of the doorbell, her heart in her mouth. What if it was him? What was she supposed to say? She had left her seat before she realized it, and was halfway to the door – with no idea if she was trying to flee the scene or ready herself for a fight – when it opened, and the last person she was expecting to see stepped into the room.

"Bella!"

"Cissy." Her sister's lips curved in a cruel smile. She was wearing black, as usual, and on her face was a look of grim determination, as though she were steeling herself for something unpleasant.

Both sisters jumped at the sound of a loud crash behind them.

"Mother!"

She had fainted. Cissy hurried to her side and pulled her back into an armchair, frowning. She had forgotten her mother was even in the room.

"Is she dead?" Bella asked dispassionately.

"No! Don't be so morbid!" It took Cissy a moment to locate her mother's smelling salts and waft them under her nose. "She faints a lot these days. Her _nerves, _apparently." Narcissa rolled her eyes. Her mother's nerves had become progressively worse over the past few years, along with her paranoia, but Cissy privately considered this particular fainting fit to be an over-reaction. It was Bella, after all, not the Grim Reaper. This thought had just crossed her mind when Bella plucked the small silver canister from her hand and threw it at a nearby house-elf.

"You're her daughter, not her private healer," she snapped. "Come on." Seizing Cissy by the arm, she pulled her into another room. "Sit," she ordered.

Narcissa obliged, watching her sister expectantly. Bella hadn't come back here since her marriage to Rodolphus, so she doubted her sister had simply stopped by for lunch.

"What's wrong?"

"You tell me," Bella said coldly. "Lucius Malfoy?"

Narcissa blushed. Bellatrix glared at her. "Incidentally, when _were _you planning on telling me? On your wedding day? Your silver anniversary?"

"We're not getting married." The words stung, but Bella didn't seem to notice.

"As if I believe _that," _she snapped. "He loves you. I _know. _So don't lie to me!"

"He doesn't love me," Cissy said miserably. Was Bella _trying_ to torture her?

Her sister rolled her eyes. "Of course he doesn't," she said scathingly. "I'm sure he was joking, when he told Rodolphus he was in love with you."

Narcissa stared at her. She couldn't help herself. "He never said that."

Bella scowled. "What are you implying?" she demanded, flaring up at once. "That Rodolphus _lied? _He doesn't lie to me! He wouldn't!"

"Well, then he must have heard wrong," Narcissa insisted, trying to be diplomatic. She had never fully understood her sister's relationship with Rodolphus, and she knew better than to ask. In recent years, her sister had become . . . . well, _unreasonable _was putting it kindly. 'Slightly mad' might be a more appropriate term. Cissy took a deep breath, about to tell her sister that she and Lucius hadn't spoken in over a week, and that he was much more likely to hate her than love her. And then a question struck her.

"Why would he say that?" she asked, curious. "Why would Lucius say that?"

Perhaps it was just a stalling tactic on her part, but to tell Bella Lucius wasn't speaking to her would make it somehow more real, and she couldn't face that. She hadn't even told her mother, though it had been agony, listening to the old woman fantasize about her daughter marrying a Malfoy. (An activity she had devoted most of the past few weeks to. Her mother was . . . marriage minded.) The Malfoys were the wealthiest pureblood family in the country. Perhaps it wasn't her mother's nerves that had caused the fainting fit, in retrospect. Maybe she'd simply keeled over from surplus excitement.

Wrenching herself back to the present with an effort, Narcissa repeated the question.

"Why would he say he . ." She swallowed, hating her sister for being cruel enough to stay silent and force her to voice an impossible dream out loud. "Why would he tell Rodolphus he loves me?" she managed at last.

Bella avoided her eye, and stayed silent.

"I knew you were lying," Cissy muttered.

"Oh what does it matter?" her sister snapped, once again losing patience. "Why do you care? It's only Lucius Malfoy! Why does it _matter?" _

"Because I love him!"

A ringing silence followed Cissy's unintentional outburst. Bellatrix groaned, but Cissy ignored her. She had suffered so much humiliation already. She might as well get it all off her chest.

"But you're right," she continued recklessly. "It doesn't matter. Because he doesn't love me. He isn't even speaking to me any more. So it doesn't matter."

It was Bella's turn to stare now. She stared at Narcissa for a full minute, silent and speculating, and then she fixed an unconvincing look of concern to her features.

"Oh. Sorry," she said. The word carried absolutely no sincerity. "You're too good for him anyway, Cissy. Don't you see that? He doesn't deserve you." She now looked inappropriately pleased. "You're really not even talking anymore?"

Cissy nodded.

"Oh. Well in that case, I don't need to make you stay away from him! So we don't have a problem anymore!" She looked positively delighted.

Narcissa frowned. "Why would you make me stay away from him?" she asked carefully.

Bella wandered over to the bookcase, pulling a heavy leather-bound volume from the shelf and flicking idly through the pages. "Because," she said lazily, "he doesn't deserve you."

"Why not?"

Bella scowled again. "Because he's dangerous. And he's selfish. He'll get you into trouble." She tilted the book to one side, examining a rather gory illustration.

"I don't think he's selfish." Insistant for once, Narcissa pressed the point. "And isn't it up to me, whether he deserves me or not?"

"No!" Bella snapped the book shut suddenly, making Narcissa jump. "It is not!" She took a deep breath. "He doesn't deserve you. I'm just trying to be a good sister," she added, as if that cemented the matter. "You love me, don't you? More than you love him? Then you should trust me. Stay away from Malfoy. He'll only get you into trouble."

Cissy frowned. "It's not a competition, Bella," she said slowly. "I can't just _choose _to love one of you more. That's not how it works."

Bella dropped the book. It hit the floor with a resounding thud. "So you love him more," she said flatly.

"That's not what I said!"

"Yes it is! If you don't love me more, you must love him more!"

Narcissa opened her mouth to try and explain, to refute her sister's faintly ridiculous assumption. But Bella didn't give her the chance.

"Well, fine!" she snapped. "Choose him! And we'll see what a good job he does of protecting you, won't we?"

"Protecting me from what, exactly?" Narcissa had finally lost patience herself. It was all very well of Bella to accuse Lucius of being dangerous, but really, was she any different? She was one of them too, wasn't she? A Death Eater? And she had never told Narcissa anything about it, had never even admitted it to her face. She could die, she could drag her family into danger . . . how was she any different to Lucius?

Bella scowled. "You'll see." It sounded like a threat, somehow.

But Cissy was sick of threats. And sick of being kept in the dark, never allowed to decide for herself if she could take any risks or put herself in danger. As she watched her sister storm out of the room - her dark hair whipping in the wind and her cloak billowing around her as she disapparated on the cobbled street outside – Narcissa made a decision.

She would put her faith in whoever trusted her with the truth.


	14. Why Should You Come When I Call?

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by the Counting Crows. I'd love your thoughts, as always! A fun fact for anyone interested in getting a glimpse into the mind of the Author – the Author spent some time pondering the question of whether or not house-elves have fingernails during the writing of this chapter. This chapter also contains both an explanation for what Lucius has been doing, and, for readers of my Protege Moi series, a slight spoiler. No-one seems to have remarked upon his absence yet, but if anyone was wondering about Cissy's father . . . . **

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**Why Should You Come When I Call?**

It rained that night.

That was what lulled her to sleep, in the end – the swift drumming of the rain against her window-pane.

That night, she dreamed she was drowning. It was an old dream, so perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised. Was it the rain that set it off? Or the tightness in her chest, the horrible feeling that she couldn't breathe properly, a feeling that had plagued her ever since she walked away from Lucius. Whatever it was, when she slipped into an uneasy sleep at last, she dreamt of drowning. There was water rushing all around her, pressing against her eardrums, smothering her, and then the dream took on a new aspect, one that had never been part of it before. Cold, clammy hands tugged at her wrists, sharp little fingers plucking at her clothes. She awoke with a scream. But this time, someone screamed back.

There was a little house-elf cringing on the floor. _Lucius's _house-elf.

"Sorry, Miss Black, Dobby is sorry! Dobby didn't mean to touch Miss Black, Dobby didn't want to frighten her, but Dobby didn't know how to wake her up . . . Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Cissy stared, stunned but not really surprised, as the elf seized one his large, bat-like ears and began to twist it, as though trying to pull it off completely. She frowned. What was he doing here? Had Lucius sent him? There was only one way to find out.

"Stop that!" she said sharply. The elf obeyed her at once. "Why are you here?" she demanded. "Did your master send you?" It was about time someone gave her _some _answers, surely.

Dobby bobbed his head, a tremulous nod.

"Why?" Cissy asked curiously.

The elf's orb-like eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. "The – the master," he stammered. "He's _dead." _

The air seemed to have been knocked from her lungs. "What – what did you say?" she gasped. "Lucius . . . . can't be dead. He just _can't _be . ."

The elf's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no, Miss Black! The _master. _Although Dobby supposes," he sniffed pathetically, "that the young master _is _the master now . . ."

"Oh." Narcissa exhaled. Suddenly, she could breathe again. Lucius wasn't dead. Then the truth sank in. "Abraxas is dead?" she asked nervously. That didn't bode well. "What happened?"

Dobby rocked back on his heels, nervously shredding the skin around his fingernails. "He got sick," he murmered, "and he went to the hospital. Dragon pox, they said. And he was asking for the young master, but he wouldn't come yet, he said he'd go later . . . and then he _died. _And the young master-" he gave an odd, shuddering gasp and closed his eyes, correcting himself- "the _master _said that I should send for you. He was very insistant, Miss Black. He wanted you. He didn't want anybody else, he just wanted you . . ." He smothered a small, choking sob. "Dobby did try to write to Miss Black, but he didn't get any answers, and he didn't want to be punished for failing the master . . . so he came to get Miss Black himself."

It was at this point that Narcissa's gaze fell upon something she had been too distracted to pay any heed to before – a large, imperious eagle owl, perched stiffly on her dressing-table with a scroll of parchment clamped in its beak. Was it her imagination, or did it look disapproving? She turned her back on it.

"Go," she ordered Dobby. "I'll follow." He disappeared instantly.

It didn't take her long to dress and her footsteps, as she tiptoed down the stairs, were commendably noiseless. _Really,_ she thought, as she reached for the Floo Powder on the mantlepiece, _I should sneak out more often. _She sobered up as the fire glowed green, and then she stepped into it, shouting "St Mungo's!" without a moment's hesitation. As her feet hit the tiled floor of the hospital foyer, she realized that she had never even considered going back to bed, despite everything. Lucius needed her, and whether he loved her or not, whether he was speaking to her or not . . . she would always come running.

She found him in the waiting room, clutching a coffee cup and staring into its depths as though he could see something more than cold brown liquid there. As if it contained instructions, answers . . . . anything. He jumped as she prised it from his fingers, and she realized he hadn't heard her approach.

"You came," he said hoarsely. It sounded almost like a question.

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, and then she realized she ought to sit down. So she did, dropping into the seat next to him and putting the coffee cup on the floor. "I came," she whispered.

There was a moment of silence.

"I didn't even like him," Lucius muttered.

"I know." She could think of nothing else to say, so she put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing him in. After a moment, he untensed, relaxing a little at her touch. He put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, and then he kissed the top of her head, brushing his lips lightly against her hair. He sighed.

"I didn't think he would die. Stupid, really . . . and now I have to arrange the funeral and-"

"I'll do it."

She didn't need to look at him to know that he was frowning at her. "I can't let you do that."

Narcissa pulled back, looking him in the eye for the first time. "Can't you?" she challenged. "You organised _my_ father's funeral," she reminded him. "I owe you, don't you think?"

"No." He pulled her close again, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. "But I suppose I can't stop you."

"Good," she murmered. She could fall asleep like this. It felt so much better than before, when she had been alone in her room. She felt as if she could breathe again, as if the vice gripping her heart had finally relaxed its hold. She wanted to stay like this forever, to never let go . . . . but she couldn't. If she did, then Lucius would turn into just another person she loved who lied to her, who never let her feel as if they were on an equal footing . . . . he would be like Bella, in the end, and it would be too late, one day, for her to change it. She swallowed.

"Lucius?"

"Mmmm?" He was playing with her hair, letting it fall through his fingers like spun silk. It was giving her goosebumps, making her weak at the knees. It took her a moment to collect her suddenly scattered thoughts.

"Where are we?" she managed at last.

She could almost hear the slight smirk in his voice as he answered. "St Mungos."

She was glad that she could make him laugh, even just a little. He needed laughter. But she knew, too, that he was being evasive. So she held her ground and hit him, gently, on the only part of him she could reach, which turned out to be his thigh. "You know what I mean."

He laughed, just once, and then he was serious again. "I don't know," he said softly.

It was tearing her apart. A pain that was too real, surely, to be in her head. Ripping at her heart, and if she wasn't careful, it would break. She didn't want to leave him, didn't want to go back to the cold, empty bedroom and the sense that she was drowning. But she had to be stronger than this. She had to be. For both their sakes.

So she drew on every reserve of willpower in her, and she stood up. She felt almost light-headed, wrenched away so suddenly from the only thing that enabled her to breathe again. She didn't want to cry, because that was childish. That was the response to pain that is sudden and unexpected, and this . . . this was something she had seen coming all along. More than anything, she felt tired.

"Let me know," she said quietly, "when you decide where we are."

She turned to leave, but he caught her arm and held her in place. He stared at her for a moment, his lips moving soundlessly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

"The – the funeral," he stuttered at last. "Will you come?"

For an instant, while he waited for an answer, she saw something curiously familiar flash across his features. It was an expression not wholly unlike the one Avery had worn, before she left his hospital room for good. Desperation.

She pulled her hand away slowly, and crossed to the door. With her hand on the doorframe, and an iron weight pressing against her chest, she turned around.

"I'll come."

And then she left, before her strength could fail her completely.


	15. An End Has A Start

**A / N : A funeral now . . . **

**Chapter title is from the song by The Editors. Let me know what you think of the chapter, and if anyone new is reading, feel free to comment too. I'd love to hear your thoughts. (By the way, if anyone was wondering why the grave is filled in by hand instead of by magic here – that's deliberate. I think that watching the earth pile up over the coffin is sort of cathartic, almost a part of the grieving process in itself. So I chose to believe that a wizarding ceremony would keep that aspect of it, rather than just waving a wand and dumping all the earth on at once. And why would a pureblood family pay someone to do that, when there are house-elves around? Hence, the ceremony depicted here. Just in case anyone was wondering. ) This chapter is unusually long for this fic, about double the length of the other chapters. But there is a lot that needs to happen here, and I honestly couldn't find a place that made sense to end it. Plus I wanted to keep it Lucius POV . . . Hopefully no one minds. Okay, that's all. Enjoy! **

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**An End Has A Start**

It rained, the day of the funeral.

The funeral itself was . . . fine. Like every other funeral Lucius had ever attended. The only difference was that this time, the mourners were shaking _his _hand, and their tight, pitying smiles were directed at him. The ceremony itself passed in a blur, the heavy, dull words of the minister trundling into sentences that held no meaning whatsoever. Not to Lucius, anyway. The mourners huddled by the graveside under wide black umbrellas and the heavy, slanting grey rain fell down over all, a cold and icy benediction. Lucius didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Upset? Angry? Mostly, he just felt numb. His father had been drinking himself into an early grave since Lucius was five years old, and had been in and out of St Mungo's for years. How, then, had he not seen this coming?

Lucius swallowed, watching as the ceremony drew to a close and the dirt-streaked house-elves who maintained the graves began to shovel earth on top of the coffin. The rain had turned the ground beneath his feet to mud, and each heavy clod seemed to hit the coffin-lid with an unnaturally loud thud. _Thud. Thud. Thud. _There was a chilling finality to the sound. Each '_thud'_ sounded like a punctuation mark. A full stop, a final, unquestionable end. He shuddered, just a little.

Narcissa had come to stand beside him by mutual, unspoken consent, and it was she who had thought to bring the umbrella that was keeping them both dry. She had come to the funeral after all. But had he ever really doubted her? Not really. Narcissa kept her promises.

The house-elves were shovelling more quickly now, eager to be out of the rain, and the earth was piling up. The grave was almost full. In the rain, oddly enough, Lucius found he could smell everything much more sharply than usual – the rich odour of the earth, the rose petal scent of Narcissa's hair and the dampening wool of her black funeral coat. Those little details would stay with him longer than he realized, so that even in years to come he could close his eyes at the smell of any one of those things, and instantly find himself transported to the graveyard again, on a rainy summer's day.

Narcissa was next to him, close enough to touch, and yet she still seemed to be much further away than he would like. He wanted to touch her, to just reach out and . . . .

As the final clod of earth was heaped upon the grave, she surprised him by reaching out herself – her hand cold and clammy in the rain – and threading her fingers through his. He swallowed again, suddenly aware of a lump in his throat. The mourners began to drift away as the ceremony ended, offering Lucius sympathetic looks and solemnly shaking his free hand. Narcissa kept her hand in his throughout, applying a light pressure as each person left. It was intended to be reassuring, he knew, but it had the opposite effect in reality, because it reminded him that this was only temporary, and that created a faint panic that made it almost impossible to concentrate on the emptying graveyard, or the falling rain. People were leaving, one by one, and all too soon only one person remained. Narcissa.

Finding herself alone in the graveyard with him, she cast his father's headstone a final glance and turned to pull her hand out of his, to pass him the umbrella and disapparate at last. Panicked, he tightened his grip upon her hand and threw caution to the winds.

"Walk with me," he said hoarsely. "Please?"

She hesitated, biting her lower lip. Then she relented. "Alright," she said gracefully. "But will you hold the umbrella? My arm is getting tired."

"Of course."

Narcissa pulled her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself. Unsettled by the sudden absence of anything to do with the hand that had been previously been held in hers, Lucius cleared his throat and stuck it in his pocket instead. Only to find that somehow, gripping his wand wasn't quite as comforting.

"Not many people came," he said, eager to say something of interest - _anything_ that might turn this into a conversation and prevent Narcissa from walking away.

She frowned. "I know. A lot of people just didn't reply . . . I invited Professor Slughorn, for instance, because I heard he went to school with your father and that they were friends back then . . . but apparently they haven't spoken in years, and Slughorn's gone away for his heath, or on some sort of retirement holiday, so he couldn't come . . . I'm not really sure."

Lucius, personally, felt quite sure that Slughorn's no-show at the funeral had more to do with all the scandal Abraxas had created over the years than anything else. The old man was probably too embarrassed to attend. But he didn't voice this opinion out loud, and Narcissa continued without giving any indication she suspected as much herself.

"I sent an invite to Bella and Rodolphus but I never heard back from them either_ . . _. I'm a bit worried. It's not like Rodolphus to be so rude. It makes me think they must have gone somewhere . . ."

She trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging, and Lucius realized that it was in fact an unspoken question. He opened his mouth, realized he hadn't the faintest idea what to say, and hurriedly closed it again. It appeared his ability to make small talk had deserted him, and as Narcissa stopped walking, he realized that his time, too, had almost run out. It was now or never. If he wasn't honest with Narcissa now, he would lose her.

She stepped out from under the umbrella. The rain was dying down now, becoming more of a drizzle than anything else. The raindrops clung to her skin in a way that made him want to reach out and touch her again, to kiss her and taste both the rain and the gloss on her lips. He mastered this impulse with difficulty, tightening his hold on the wand in his pocket, a poor substitute.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Her voice was soft, and tired-sounding, and he knew instinctively that this was the last time she would ask.

So he nodded, casting his gaze about for something to sit down on. Realizing that tombstones were his only option, he chose the nearest one and sat down. After a moment Narcissa joined him. They sat in silence, beneath the wingspan of a stone angel, and then Narcissa asked a question. A relatively innocent one – she was trying, he realized with a jolt, to make this easy for him.

"Bella and Rodolphus . . . do you know where they are?"

Lucius shook his head. "No." He sighed. "You have to understand . . . I don't know everything your sister does. And she doesn't know everything I do. We do work together, sometimes. But not all the time."

Narcissa frowned. "Doesn't . . ." she swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Doesn't _He _trust you?"

"It's not that. It's just that it's difficult to know who to trust sometimes, and the more people who know about something, the greater the risk. If you aren't directly involved in what's planned, then you don't really need to know, do you? It's an unnecessary risk. Of course," - his lip curled unexpectedly - "it doesn't always turn out that way."

She seemed to guess what he was talking about at once. "That night at the Ministry fund-raiser," she said slowly. "You didn't know."

"No. But your sister did."

Narcissa sucked in her breath. "She _knew?" _she repeated, dumbstruck. "But . . . I was there, I could have been killed . . . she didn't tell me."

Lucius stayed silent. What was he supposed to say to that? That Bellatrix cared more about the Dark Lord than anyone else, even herself? It was true, but that wouldn't make it any easier on Narcissa.

"She does try and protect you," he said instead. "In her own way. But she . . . well, she is the way she is. You know that."

Narcissa nodded. "I know," she mumbled. "I'm just not sure I understand her anymore. It feels like there's something I don't know, and that would make sense of it all. But I just can't figure it out." She took a deep breath. "The tattoo on your arm . . . Bella has it too. What is it?"

Lucius closed his eyes. This conversation was turning out to be even worse than he'd imagined. They were getting deeper and deeper into dangerous territory, and every nerve in his body was screaming that he was perilously close to committing treachery. He wasn't going to get away with this, he knew. He would be punished. But at the moment, it was hard to think of a worse punishment than losing Narcissa.

"It's not a tattoo," he said heavily. "It's the Dark Mark. Only members of the Inner Circle are granted a Mark, it's an honour. A privilege, I suppose . . . it's our means of distinguishing one another, and it's also a way for our master to summon us. When the Mark burns, you disapparate instantly and reappear at his side. But it's not supposed to be public information, you understand? No-one outside of the Inner Circle is supposed to know of the Mark's existence, or its function."

Narcissa shivered at the unspoken implication. "I won't tell," she whispered.

There was an uncomfortable silence. "You've killed people," Narcissa said at last, in a whisper so soft it was scarecely audible. It wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway.

"Yes."

"Why?" Her voice cracked a little and she blinked rapidly, as though fighting tears.

"Because that's war," Lucius said softly. "You fight for the things you believe in. You do what you have to. It's not supposed to be easy, and it isn't. But the Dark Lord . . . . you haven't met him. He's more powerful than any wizard in history. There's no fighting him. He _will _win this war, Narcissa, and it's so much better to be on the side that wins." He smiled a little, though he doubted Narcissa found his feeble attempt at humour amusing. "Besides, he ought to win. Believe me. We're on the right side."

Narcissa stiffened. "You don't have to tell me _that," _she said tightly. "I'm not . . . not a blood traitor. Not like _her." _She winced. "Andromeda, I mean. I know we're on the right side. I just wonder if it's worth it sometimes, all this _killing . . . _I wonder if there isn't another way." She fell silent, and he knew that her question hadn't been one she really expected him to answer.

"Is that all?" he asked quietly.

"Just one more thing," she promised. She put her head on his shoulder and was quiet for a long time. So long, in fact, that he began to wonder if she had changed her mind about the question she had wanted to ask. "How many?" she said at last.

"Including Muggles?"

He felt her nod.

Lucius looked around the graveyard, counting row upon row of small grey headstones and crumbling statues. They stretched as far as the eye could see. _I could fill this graveyard, _he realized.

"A lot," he told her.

"And Bella?"

"More." He put an arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry," he murmered.

Her only answer to that was to wrap her arms around his middle and hold on tight, burying her face in his neck. They stayed like that, locked in place, for a long time. He was never sure how long, though he did notice that when Narcissa pulled away at last, her cheeks were damp. She rubbed them with her sleeve and then she stood up. "I asked," she said ruefully. "You can't help it if the truth is awful."

She looked so unhappy. Lucius wasn't aware of deciding to do it, but it seemed only natural to stand up himself and pull her into his arms, and to kiss her until she began to respond. He didn't stop until she had relaxed against him, and he was sure she was calm again.

They stood in the middle of the graveyard, clinging to each other as if they were the only survivors of a shipwreck.

"You can be sweet when you want to be," Narcissa mumbled. That familiar teasing note in her voice had come back though, the one that always made him smile.

"I'm a man of many talents," he suggested. She laughed.

"Lucius Malfoy, was that a _joke?" _

"It's been known to happen."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to respond with something sharp and witty. But he kissed her again, feeling her laugh against his lips, and then he realized that she wasn't leaving. She had heard the worst, and she was staying. And that meant that his father's funeral had just become one of the best days of his life.

Narcissa broke the kiss at last, breathless but still laughing. Her cheeks were glowing pink and she looked _happy _again.

"Look!" she giggled, pointing at something by their feet. He turned obligingly to see what had caught her attention.

On the ground, poking through thick clusters of weeds and scrubby, stony ground, was a flower, its petals unfurling after the rain.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Lucius stared at the flush on her cheeks, the childlike delight upon her face.

"Beautiful," he agreed.


	16. Let The Flames Begin

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Paramore. I don't know why I decided to go with Rodolphus POV for this one, it just seemed right. And Lucius isn't really . . . . haha. You'll see. Let me know what you think, as always. Silence is a scary sound, it terrifies my muse. **

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**Let The Flames Begin**

Bella and Malfoy were at it again. Arguing. They were worse than siblings in that regard, and Lucius' recent reunion with little Cissy hadn't helped matters. Only Bella could take someone falling in love with her little sister as an insult. Rodolphus still had no idea how his wife had managed that, but she had. Listening to her now, he couldn't help but wish she were just a little more sane. It wasn't, he reflected, as if he were asking for a miraculous transformation. But he would really have liked it if she could learn to pick her fights at a more appropriate time.

Now, for instance, was _not_ an appropriate time. The three of them were standing in a sweetshop, the family of the proprietor dead at their feet. Rumours had been circulating about Harkiss and his family for weeks, and all the evidence suggested they were about to join the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's resistance movement. So the Dark Lord had sent Malfoy, Rodolphus and Bellatrix to ensure this didn't happen. After all, people can't join resistance movements when they're dead. Unfortunately, it appeared that their master neither knew nor cared about the recent developments in his followers' love lives. If he had, he surely wouldn't have been foolish enough to send Malfoy and Bella anywhere important together.

"She said you weren't even talking to her, you lying little toad!"

"Bella." Rodolphus tugged impatiently at her sleeve.

"But you just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Bella!"

"I mean, a funeral? Wow, _that's _classy! You probably killed the old man yourself just to get her there, I wouldn't be surprised . ."

Malfoy opened his mouth, no doubt to respond with something arrogant or offensive (possibly both) but Rodolphus cut across him before he got the chance.

"_Trixiebell!" _

_Crack. _Bella spun round in an instant and slapped him across the face. Rodolphus grimaced. "Trixiebell" was the most insulting nickname he had ever found for his wife. He had been using it almost as long as he'd known her, and it never failed to infuriate her. It was also one of only two words guaranteed to get her attention, the other being "master." He would have gone with the second, less humiliating option, but in their master's absence, that might have confused Malfoy. He smirked a little at the thought. Bella, meanwhile, had directed her ire at him.

"If you _ever _call me by that _stupid, ridiculous _name again, I'll pull off your head and-"

Rodolphus didn't respond to this. He'd heard it all before, many times. Instead, he pulled his wife's mask over her face, ignoring her muffled exclamations and her attempts to curse him, and wheeled her round, so that she could see what he had noticed while she and Malfoy were embroiled in their petty argument. Aurors, popping into existence all around them. One, two, three, four . . . five of them. Malfoy pulled his own mask down in an instant, and a string of rather unladylike oaths left Bellatrix's lips. Rodolphus seized her arm and tried to pull her away with him, but the air around them was thick and impenetrable. Anti – Apparition charms, he realized with a jolt. Bella had already jerked out of his grip, always much more keen to fight than to run away, even if the latter was a far wiser course of action.

This thought had just occured to him when a jet of violet light streaked past her, scorching her cheek. The curse hit the bronze scales on the shop counter and rebounded off them, striking Malfoy in the leg, just below the knee. The younger man went down in an instant. His head hit the flagstones, and there was a sickening crack. He did not get up again.

Bella, meanwhile, had set her teeth in a snarl and was duelling fiercely. But they were outnumbered, and trapped. Ducking and weaving as curses flew about his head, Rodolphus noticed, too late, that none of those curses were aimed at him. The cowards were concentrating all their spells at Bella, weakening her shield charm. It probably wasn't cowardice to them, of course. They probably recognized her slim, dark-haired form from numerous other clashes with her and knew her to be a bigger threat than any of her companions, save the Dark Lord himself. The masks made it impossible for them to identify her, of course. But more importantly, they meant the Aurors had no clue the Death Eater they were ignoring was her husband. Another jet of light – orange this time – broke through Bella's shield charm and struck her on the temple. She crumpled to the floor, and an old, familiar anger ripped into Rodolphus.

"_Expelliarmus!" _he cried.

A wand flew into his hand, and the Auror who had lost it – possibly the same one whose curse had found Bella – stared at him, open-mouthed. His colleagues wore similar expressions of bewilderment. They were duelling a Death Eater, one of Lord Voldemort's elite, and all he had done was disarm just one Auror? They watched, apparently unable to guess his game as he backed himself into a corner, a wand clutched in each hand. There were shouts of alarm and a few laughs as Rodolphus pulled open the trapdoor leading to the cellar and lowered first Bella and then Malfoy into the opening. The Aurors moved closer, hemming him in until he stood on the brink himself, ready to jump down. They were laughing now. Clearly, they thought him mad. After all – where could he go? There were Anti – Apparition charms preventing him from leaving the cellar. He grinned.

And then he raised the Auror's wand, and shouted an incantation out loud. Flames burst from the tip and surged, howling, into the room. Flames of monstrous size and unnatural heat, burning brighter than anything he had ever seen, and riding on each tongue of flame, fiery serpents, dragons and chimaeras. Rodolphus tossed the stolen wand into the flames and jumped into the cellar below, clutching his own wand tightly as he hastily transfigured the wooden door to impenetrable stone, and sealed the cracks with magic. He sank to the floor, panting.

Above him the noise of the flames - their angry roar - drowned out even the screams of the Aurors, trapped by their own spells and burning to death. The flames, Rodolphus knew, would burn themselves out eventually, when they devoured the wand that had created them. All he had to do was wait. Coughing, he crawled to Bella's side. She was scarcely conscious, with a faint sheen of sweat upon her forehead, and her breathing was ragged and uneven.

"Bella. Bella, wake up." He shook her. "Bella, come on. Stay with me," he implored. Her eyelids flickered, and he felt a sudden flare of hope. "That's right . . . come on. Wake up . . ." Her hair was clinging to her forehead, damp with sweat. He stroked it away and shook her gently again.

"Come on, wake up, Bella, please . . ."

"I'm tired," she mumbled, but her eyelids were already drifting shut again.

Desperate now, he shouted at her. "Hey, Trixiebell! Wake up!"

She groaned and hit him feebly on the arm. "Don't . . . call . . . stupid . . . name . . . hate you . . . " Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled again. Rodolphus swore.

The air was stifling now. Even secondhand, the heat from the room above was enough to make him sweat, and it was becoming hard to breathe. Malfoy chose to return to the land of the living just as Bella lapsed into unconsciousness.

"My leg . . ." he said, apparently bewildered, and then he trailed off, frowning, and blinked several times in quick succession before shaking his head as though trying to remove water from his ears.

"_Hurts?" _Rodolphus suggested sardonically.

Malfoy's face lit up. "Yes! Ow . . . it _hurts. _Did you do this?"

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow, and then his gaze fell upon the blood matted on the back of Malfoy's head, and he realized that the idiot was severely concussed.

"Where . . . are we?"

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter. Try not to talk, there isn't much air." Whether this was true or not was debatable, but there was a chance it might be, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Malfoy waste air Bella might need. He felt a brief flash of guilt as Malfoy's eyes rolled shut and he slipped back into an unconsciousness that probably wasn't any good for him, but it was too late to do anything about it by then. Or so Rodolphus told himself as he settled back against the wall and pulled Bellatrix into his lap, stroking her hair. Her laboured breathing was all he could hear, and so he closed his eyes, tuning everything else out and trying to pretend that they were at home, and Bella was asleep, lost in dreams he could only guess at.

An hour . . .

Two . . . .

He heard the wand crack under the strain at last, heard the fizzing explosion of sparks that heralded the end. And so he got to his feet, pulling Bella up with him. The Anti – Apparition charms had broken as their casters died and so, with Bella on one arm and Malfoy on the other, he disapparated, leaving no evidence of their presence in the little sweet shop. It was, he realized with a small smile, a perfect crime.

They reappeared on a dark London street. The windows in the house in front of him were black, and here in the dark, it was hard to tell if he had come to the right place or not. It wasn't, after all, as if he spent much time here. Hoping for Malfoy's sake that it _was _the right place, he dropped the other man onto the pavement. He would wake up soon. Hopefully.

As Rodolphus adjusted his hold on Bella, her eyelids flickered again, and she mumbled something in her sleep, a word that sounded like "master." He felt his heart twist painfully.

"Hey now," he said, in a voice that sounded hollow even to his ears, "I thought you were asleep."

She gave no indication she could hear him, but she murmered the word again and began to struggle. Frowning, Rodolphus raised his wand and whispered _"Stupefy." _Bella collapsed at once, and he picked her up, something she would never usually have allowed without a fight.

"C'mon Trixiebell," he said softly, as if the novelty of saying it _without _getting slapped could compensate for the sudden ache in his heart. "Let's go home."


	17. A Rush Of Blood To The Head

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Coldplay. Sometimes I pick my titles on amusement value alone. This one was specifically based around the lyric "blame it upon a rush of blood to the head." Haha. What can I say? I'm diabolical in my fluffiness. Let me know if you like it, don't like it . . . . etc. Enjoy! **

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**A Rush Of Blood To The Head**

At first, Narcissa wasn't sure what had woken her. She sat up in bed, suddenly and inexplicably nervous, and looked around. In the gloom, she could see nothing unusual, just the familiar mass of shapes – curtain drapes and dresser corners – that made up her room in the dark. She could hear nothing either, just the ticking of the clock and her own quiet breathing. She picked up her wand and sat up a little straighter, listening hard. _Something _had to have woken her, after all. And then she heard it. A shower of little taps, like hailstones against her windowpane. She got to her feet slowly and crossed to the window, pulling back a tiny corner of the curtain and peeping out. The street below was empty, the cobblestones and streetlamps gilded silver in the moonlight. She jumped as a hail of pebbles scattered across the glass, catching her by surprise, and then she looked down into her own front garden, and realized there was a _man _there, stumbling around as though drunk. She stood frozen for a moment, and then she opened the window and leaned out carefully over the balcony, her wand gripped tightly in one hand. She was just about to aim a hex at the man when he stumbled into the light and she caught a familiar flash of fair hair. Narcissa almost tumbled into the garden herself.

"_Lucius?" _she cried, alarmed. What on earth was he doing? Perhaps she wasn't awake at all. Perhaps this was simply a rather vivid dream. He waved at her, and she ducked as another shower of pebbles sailed past her shoulder. Shaking her head in bemusement, she backed into her bedroom once more and stuffed her feet into her slippers, racing down the stairs to the front door.

"Lucius!" she said, breathless as she pulled the door open. "What are you _doing _here?"

"Hello." He stumbled into the dark hallway and attempted to kiss her. She giggled.

"Were you throwing pebbles at my bedroom window?" she inquired.

Lucius scowled. "No," he declared. "I was not. I levitated them. With my _wand." _He raised his wand as if it were evidence. Levitating pebbles, apparently, was much more dignified than simply throwing them.

Narcissa giggled again. She couldn't help it. "Oh. I see."

"Mmm. Yes. Precisely." He seemed to be having difficulty collecting his thoughts, and, bizarrely, keeping still. As he almost knocked over a vase, Narcissa frowned.

"Are you drunk?" she asked.

"What? No! Of course I am not . . . drunk. I resent . . . the . . . the . . ."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Implication?" she suggested, still frowning.

His face lit up. "Precisely. I resent the tribulation."

She stepped closer, pulling him into a kiss that was, in fact, an attempt to see if there was any alcohol on his breath. Surprisingly, there wasn't. But as she pulled him closer, she felt something sticky on his neck. Illuminating her wand, Cissy gasped. There was dried blood on his head and neck, and one of his trouser legs was soaked with it, the leg hanging stiff and oddly dead-looking at an angle. She suddenly understood why he couldn't seem to walk in a straight line.

"What – what happened to you?" she stammered.

He frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, nonplussed.

Narcissa held up her blood-stained hand to his face. "You're _bleeding," _she told him.

"Am I? Oh." He frowned, but he seemed more perplexed than actually in pain. And his eyes weren't quite in focus.

Narcissa put her hand in his and began to pull him up the stairs. He was leaning on her quite heavily by the time they got to the top. "Here," she muttered, pushing him onto her bed, "Stay here. I'll be back in a minute."

She crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. She hesitated for a long moment, facing the door to the room at the very top of the house. Her father's study. No-one had set foot there since he died, and she struggled to breathe as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room. _It's just a room, _she told herself, breathing hard. _Just an empty room. _And it was. A deserted room, flooded with moonlight, the air filled with dancing dustmotes. She found what she was looking for – the bottle full of amber liquid – in an instant, and then she backed out of the room and hurried back down the stairs, fighting the urge to shiver in the sudden cold. There were goosebumps on the back of her neck.

As she pulled the door of her own bedroom closed behind her and turned around, she realized with a jolt that there was no longer anyone on her bed.

"Lucius?" she said uncertainly.

She jumped as his lips brushed against her neck. "Hello again," he said blearily.

She rolled her eyes. "I told you to sit down," she reprimanded him. "This-" - she squirmed, suddenly ticklish at the feel of his breath on her neck - "is _not _sitting down!" She pushed him back onto her bed with an effort. "Hold this," she ordered, pushing the bottle of firewhiskey into his hand as she turned her back on him and began to hunt down some bandages. Only to find that when she turned around again . . . he was drinking it.

"Lucius!" she protested, exasperated. "You're not supposed to _drink _it!" She pulled the bottle out of his grasp and soaked her handkerchief with the contents, dabbing at the blood on the back of his head. "See? It's to clean the wounds," she told him.

He grimaced. "That burns," he complained. "I liked it better when I was drinking it."

"You liked it better when you were_ wasting_ it," she corrected.

"Mmm." He frowned, considering. "Perhaps . . perhaps," he said craftily, "I'm bleeding _internally." _

Narcissa rolled her eyes again. "You are not," she said firmly. She hoped not, anyway. Of course, she could always check for bruises, but that would mean taking his shirt off, and she had the funny feeling that would prove rather distracting. "Okay, um, hold still," she ordered, suddenly red-faced and very glad he couldn't see it as she tilted his head forward and gently pressed her wand against the wound, doing her best to heal it. Healing spells weren't something she was particularly adept at, but she had to at least try. Leaving him this concussed and still bleeding was definitely a remedy for disaster.

The head wound healed well, but the leg wound turned out to be infinitely more difficult. It just wouldn't heal. She had no sooner succeeded in closing the wound when it opened up again, bleeding profusely. Once, twice . . . three times. She drew back, tired and beginning to feel panicked. Worse, Lucius was starting to look sleepy. She shook him by the shoulder. Even if he wasn't concussed anymore, there was definitely _something _wrong with him, and all the blood loss probably wasn't helping matters.

"Luicus. Lucius!" she shook him again as his eyelids began to drift shut. Mercifully, they opened again. "Listen, Lucius – I'm going to take you to St. Mungo's, alright? They should be able to make it better . . ." Could he even hear her? She yelped as he gripped her hand unexpectedly.

"No, no," he said, the words slightly slurred. "We . . . . can't go there. Not yet. It was Aurors, and they'll be suspicious. . .. we can't go yet. Just wait a little while, and then we can go . . . . . . just let me think of something," he mumbled, falling forwards again.

Cissy pushed him gently back onto the bed, biting her lip. Aurors. Well, that complicated things. On the one hand, she didn't want Lucius to get arrested . . . . . but on the other, this was beyond her ability to heal. He was talking again.

"Promise," he mumbled, his eyes closing again. "Promise, Narcissa . . .." He squeezed her hand, and she frowned.

"Does it hurt?" she asked nervously.

He shook his head. "Can't . . . . feel anything, really . . ." he trailed off again.

She wasn't happy about this. But what other choice did she have? None. So she raised her wand, wrapping the bandages tightly around the still-bleeding wound in an instant, and gave in with bad grace.

"Alright," she said unhappily, heaping blankets on top of his unusually icy frame. He wasn't supposed to be this cold, he was losing too much blood . . . . . she swallowed. "But I'm bringing you to St Mungos' first thing tomorrow morning," she added fiercely, "And you can't fight me on that. I won't let you."

"Wouldn't . . . dream of it . . ."

Was he listening to her? She couldn't tell anymore. So she sat down on the bed beside him, frowning at the blood already beginning to seep through the bandages on his leg. This wasn't right . . . . . it made her want to scream. She jumped as he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her down so that she was lying on the bed with him, her head resting on his chest. "Don't worry," he mumbled. "It'll be . . . . alright."

"We'll see about that tomorrow, won't we?" she said, her voice a little brittle. _If you're still conscious by then . . . . _Now she had a reason to be worried. She was never going to be able to sleep tonight, not with this hanging over her . . . . . But Lucius was stroking her hair, and the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat was oddly reassuring.

"I wanted to tell you something," he said blearily. Narcissa was at the hazy point between waking and sleeping by then, not quite sure how she'd got there but too tired herself to fight it. And so she mumbled an unconscious assent, an invitation to go on, without really realizing it. His arms curled tightly around her, and he mumbled the words into her hair, as though he were talking in his sleep.

"I love you."

Cissy froze. "What – what did you say?" she stammered. Silence.

Suddenly, she was wide awake, her heart pumping painfully and something electric surging through her veins. She sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. "Lucius! What did you say?"

Still no response. Terrified she had said something wrong, she summoned all her strength and turned around to look him in the eye. "Oh."

He was asleep.

Narcissa stared at him, silent, as the clock struck the hour. Then she lay down again, settling her head against his chest. And smiled.

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**A / N : Adorable, are they not? They never fail to make me smile.**

**Beth - Thanks for the review! I'm glad you're still enjoying the story, and that you liked Rodolphus' POV. ( I like him too, he's grown on me. Haha.) I understand if it seemed a little out of place, though. Hopefully it makes a bit more sense after this chapter? I made the switch to Rodolphus' POV for that chapter both because he was only one conscious and / or coherent for most of it, and because I was hoping the insight into his relationship with Bellatrix would help the reader to understand something that happens later on in the story. I also thought that leaving that chapter out – and just having Lucius show up injured at Narcissa's house, and her trying to piece together what happened – might throw the reader off a bit, and seem very abrupt, coming straight after the funeral scene. I always try and read through the chapter objectively after I write it, and see if it makes sense to someone who doesn't know the whole story inside out and upside down like I do, but I can never be entirely sure of that so it means a lot to get feedback on it. Because I write stories for myself, but I wouldn't be posting them on here if I wasn't hoping other people will like them too, obviously! And it always makes my day to hear that someone enjoyed reading my stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) **

**Lilac – Hey! Thanks for reviewing – I love hearing from new readers, and I always appreciate reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and no, you weren't the only one feeling sorry for Lucius – I felt sorry for him too. Poor thing. But at least he has Narcissa to play nursemaid . . . . :D So it isn't all bad. Haha. And I'm thrilled you like my Rodolphus. I gave his character a lot of thought, and I wanted to come up with someone who felt real and who you could imagine being married to Bellatrix. So I wanted him to be strong and likeable but at the same time to have a fundamental weakness – Bellatrix. It's quite relevant later on. Thanks again! :) **


	18. Tiny Little Fractures

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Snow Patrol. Let me know what you think, as always! **

**Lilac - Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it. Yep, Lucius said it . . . . but shall it be that simple? We'll have to see . . . . ;)**

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**Tiny Little Fractures**

"So . . . . just to be, er . . . _clear _about this – _you _did this? You did this _by accident?" _The healer frowned at her.

Narcissa swallowed. Then, tentatively, she nodded. "Lucius was trying to teach me self-defense," she repeated. "It was a non-verbal I tried, and I was sort of distracted . . . . honestly, I'm not sure what I did."

The healer nodded slowly. "Well, insufficient determination might have done it, I suppose . . . or incorrect phrasing . . . . " He straightened up and wound his stethoscope around his neck once more. "I just hope you know you had a very lucky escape, Miss Black. The curse you produced is one more commonly used by Aurors against Dark wizards. You could have crippled Mr . . ." - he checked the chart - "Malfoy . . . . permanently. And not bringing him in until morning was extremely foolish, no matter how much trouble you feared you would be in. He's lucky he didn't lose the leg. As it is, he should be awake soon. Impress upon him the importance of _resting _the leg, please. In some circumstances, there is no healing potion as potent as time, and time is what this needs. It might also be necessary for him to have something to lean on – a crutch, a stick, et cetera."

"A stick?" Narcissa giggled. She couldn't help herself. "He won't like that. His father used to walk with a stick."

The healer only stared at her. "As I said, impress upon him the importance of-"

"I will," Narcissa interrupted, smiling sweetly at him. "Is that all?"

The healer stared at her for a moment. Then he took off his glasses, huffed on the lenses, and polished them on his sleeve before settling them once more on the bridge of his nose. "If you're quite sure," he said at last, "that that's exactly what happened. That there isn't anything you're, er, _hiding _from us."

Narcissa instinctively tightened her grip on Lucius' arm, unconsciously pulling the fabric of his sleeve more tightly around the Dark Mark. "What are you implying?" she asked carefully, frowning a little and widening her eyes. Her most innocent expression.

"You've been here all this time," the healer pointed out. "You refused to let go of Mr Malfoy's hand," he suggested next.

"That's because I _love _him," Narcissa objected. "Obviously."

Silence. "So this was an accident. He was teaching you self-defence. And you're sure you weren't . . . ahem. Attempting to defend yourself."

It was Narcissa's turn to stare now. "Well of course I was . . . what are you . . . oh!" Her mouth fell open. She frowned. "Lucius doesn't _hit _me," she said. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. He would never hurt me. He's just not like that." _Not to me, anyway. _She frowned, shoving this thought roughly out of her mind. "He would never hurt me," she repeated.

"If you insist," the healer said.

"I do."

"Well, in that case, I have other patients to see to. In future, Miss Black, I would confine your attempts at non-verbal curses to an authorised duelling or charms club. Good day."

He swept out of the room, and Cissy stuck her tongue out at him. _Pompous idiot._

She jumped as Lucius' arm twitched beneath her fingers. He was waking up.

"Lucius!" she cried, her irritation evaporating in an instant. "You're awake!"

He groaned. "Apparently so."

Narcissa giggled. "Oh, right. Too loud. Sorry."

Lucius blinked, frowning at the flowers on the window sill and the white linen hangings around his bed. "Where are we?" he asked, bewildered.

"St Mungos'," Narcissa announced, fluffing his pillows. "Don't you remember?"

Lucius shook his head. "No."

Cissy sat down again, watching him closely. "What _do_ you remember?" she asked curiously.

He ran a hand over his face and exhaled slowly, thinking. "You," he said at last. "I remember you."

"But nothing before that?"

"No . . . . I remember you, but not very clearly. We were talking, or something like that. Weren't we?" Narcissa nodded, and he went on. "That's right. We were talking. About . . .. pebbles. And promises." His forehead creased. "And -" he stopped abruptly and coughed uncomfortably. "I think I ought to have some water," he said suddenly.

Narcissa stared, a little thrown by the sudden change of subject. "Erm . . . . alright. I'll go and get you some."

Sighing internally, she left the room, wandering to the cafe. _I think I ought to have some water? _What was that supposed to mean? That he'd remembered what he said, and didn't want to talk about it? That he needed to distract her while he figured out a way to take it back? Or possibly, infuriatingly . . . . that he really did just want a drink.

Narcissa was so absorbed in this line of thought that she didn't notice the glass had slipped from her hand until it was already falling, and a hand had snatched it from the air and handed it back to her.

"Rodolphus!"

"Well, if it isn't little Cissy." Her sister's husband smiled grimly, as he put the glass back into her hand. "You ought to be more careful. Someone could get hurt."

"Oh. I . . . er . . . what are you doing here?"

Narcissa liked Rodolphus, but a lot of the time she found him quite intimidating. If he wasn't laughing at a joke it seemed only he could see, he was making odd statements that sometimes seemed to have an ominous double meaning. Like now, for instance. Narcissa knew perfectly well that he was referring to her clumsiness in dropping the glass. And yet, somehow, she couldn't shake the distinct impression he'd been talking about something else. "What are you doing here?" she asked again.

Rodolphus shrugged. "I could ask you the same question. But that would be a little pointless, given that we're here for the same reason. For advertently putting the ones we love in hospital."

"I didn't _actually _curse Lucius _. . . . _wait a minute!" Narcissa frowned. "How do you know about that? And what do you mean . . . _Bella's_ here?" Cissy's mouth caught up with her mind much too quickly, and she found herself asking several questions at once.

Rodolphus smirked. "Bella and I had a domestic dispute," he said smoothly. "An accident similar, I'm sure, to Lucius'." Narcissa's eyes widened as the true meaning of this hit her – Bella and Lucius, wherever they had been and whatever had happened . . . had been together. But that meant . . .

"Is Bella alright?" she asked in a panic.

"She's fine," Rodolphus said, yawning as he poured orange juice into the glass in Narcissa's hand for her. "She always is. She's tougher than she looks." Some emotion Cissy couldn't quite place flickered briefly across his features, and then he was calm again.

"But it wasn't an accident," Narcissa said slowly. "She could have been killed. They both could have been killed."

Rodolphus froze at her tone, as he realized that for once, the implication hadn't gone straight over her head. He looked her up and down, very slowly.

"So," he said at last. "Malfoy's been experimenting with honesty." His expression was unreadable.

Narcissa nodded tightly. "Yes."

"And just how honest has he been, little Cissy? Just how much has he told you?"

Narcissa set her jaw, unconsciously invoking a sudden resemblence to Bellatrix. "Enough."

"I see." Rodolphus pulled the glass from her hand and set it down on the table again, surveying her with a shrewd expression. Narcissa reddened. "I should go," she said quickly, turning to leave. Only to find Rodolphus' fingers unexpectedly curled around her wrist, pulling her back.

"Some secrets," he said quietly, "aren't Lucius' to tell. He should know that."

Narcissa struggled, but she couldn't free her arm so eventually she gave in and stopped trying to. "He does know that," she replied. "Some things aren't my business. But some things aren't your business either."

"Aren't they? You tell me, little Cissy. Because do you want to know what I think? I think you're a sweet girl." He tilted her chin up, and laughed wryly. "But there are some things you're better off not knowing. For everyone's sake." He dropped her hand and turned to leave himself. But this time Narcissa was the one to grab his arm, the one to pull him back.

"Do you want to know what I think?" she retorted, the colour high in her cheeks.

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. "Tell me," he said dryly.

"_I _think," Cissy said fiercely, "that for someone who tries so hard to look like he doesn't care . . . . you do a good job of convincing me otherwise."

The shutters had come down in Rodolphus' expression again. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, as though he didn't care about the answer, despite the fact that his eyes were now locked on hers.

"It means I'm not an idiot," Narcissa retaliated. "You act like you don't like Lucius. But _someone _left him on my doorstep when he was bleeding to death, and I know it wasn't Bella. It can't have been him either, because he could hardly walk in a straight line. There's no way he could have apparated without ripping himself into pieces. And his father is dead, so his house is empty . . . . someone took him to me, because they knew I'd do anything to fix him again."

Rodolphus neither confirmed nor denied this. He simply watched her intently.

"I think you act like yours and Bella's marriage is like everyone else's," Narcissa continued. "But it's not. I think you love her. But . . . you act like that's wrong, somehow. You act like . . . like you're not supposed to love her. Like you shouldn't." This made no sense at all to Cissy, and yet she felt sure it was right, somehow

There was a long silence. Rodolphus was staring at her so intently now that Narcissa began to feel she might burst into flames if he didn't stop soon.

"She doesn't know you," he said at last. It sounded almost as though he were talking to himself. He looked half-surprised and half-amused.

"Who?" Cissy knew the answer anyway. They both did.

"Bella," he said, frowning. "She really doesn't, does she? She doesn't know you at _all."_

Cissy swallowed. "No," she murmered. "She doesn't." She dropped her gaze to the floor, because she couldn't stand to look at Rodolphus any longer. There was something in his expression that made her heart hurt, somehow, and she couldn't think where it had come from. Probably Bella. The closer you got to Bella, the more it hurt. And the more impossible it became to pull away.

"Are you going to tell her?" she managed at last. "Are you going to Bella the things Lucius told me? Are you going to tell her I know?"

Another silence, this one longer than before. And then, just when she had abandoned hope -

"No."

"No?" Cissy repeated, incredulous. "You won't tell her?"

Rodolphus shook his head. "I won't tell her." He pulled his arm out of her grip, and then surprsingly, he touched a finger to her lips. Cissy blinked and tried to say something, but the light pressure of his fingertip kept her mute. "I won't tell," he finished. "But Narcissa-" - it was the first time he had ever called her anything other than "Little Cissy", and her name sounded strange on his lips - "don't breathe a word." He lifted his hand, and turned to leave, unhindered this time. At the door, he paused.

"Don't breathe a word," he said softly, "because it's your secret now too."


	19. Love Fool

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by the Cardigans, which I completely adore. Enjoy! **

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**Love Fool**

Lucius knew little of love. He couldn't remember ever being loved by anyone and he had never really expected to experience the feeling himself. So how he had come to fall in love with Narcissa was something he couldn't quite comprehend. The strange thing was, he could remember quite clearly the point at which he began to feel attracted to her. He had noticed when he began to see her in a different light, when little things like the smell of her perfume and the way she smiled started to affect him in ways they hadn't before. But at what point, exactly, did he fall in love with her? At what point did a day without her in it start to seem empty? At what point did it become so easy to see her face when he shut his eyes, at what point did he cease to notice anyone else in her company? The question was one of the things that quite frequently kept him awake at night, but no matter how much thought he gave the matter, he seemed unable to produce an answer.

Perhaps he shouldn't have told her.

He hadn't really meant to. It had simply slipped out. He had heard himself say the words, he had known what he was saying . . . and yet he had been unable to stop himself. That was the reason Lucius didn't drink – because he hated having no control over the words coming out of his mouth. And yet . . . . he wasn't even sure the concussion was fully to blame. He had the feeling the words might have emerged anyway, even if he had only been _tired. _

Perhaps he had been right to tell her.

Lucius had no idea what the proper etiquette for a situation like this was, if he was honest. Was there a better time he ought to have waited for? Should he have waited for her to say it first, for instance, and then simply responded with the same words? He groaned. He was beginning to wish he had asked Lestrange about it during their drinking session.

Narcissa hadn't mentioned it yet. What did that mean? Something? Anything? The trouble was, Lucius couldn't remember what her reaction had been. It would surely help if he could. As it was, his last memory of the whole thing was telling her he loved her, and he was starting to feel distinctly panicked about it.

He was distracted at this moment by Narcissa herself, who re-entered the room and dropped into the chair by his bed. She was frowning a little, looking uncharacteristically serious.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Is everything alright?" he asked, trying to sound as nonchalent as possible, and to look as though he hadn't spent the past ten minutes ransacking his own head in a futile attempt to find out what might be going through hers.

Narcissa blinked. She opened her mouth, about to say something, and then she seemed to think better of it. "Everything's fine," she answered. "Why?"

"You forgot my water," Lucius pointed out.

Narcissa reddened. "Oh." She sat for a moment in silence, and then, abruptly, she straightened up. "I decided you didn't need it," she said.

Lucius stared at her, alarmed. She was wearing an expression he couldn't fathom. "Why – why not?" he managed at last. He coughed. "I was thirsty."

It sounded like a plausible explanation. But Narcissa, apparently, wasn't buying it. "No you weren't," she retorted. "You were just trying to distract me."

"Is that . . . er . . . is that so?" Narcissa threw his train of thought off course by moving very suddenly from her chair and sitting instead on his bed. A bad idea, in Lucius' opinion. If the previous night had taught him anything, it was that sharing a bed with Narcissa – however innocently - did terrible things to his self-control.

Narcissa did not appear to have noticed this. She turned around to face him. "Yes," she said firmly. "It is. Do you want to know why?"

"I . . well I . . ."

"You said you loved me." She made it sound like a challenge, and it took him a moment to realize it _was. _

"Oh. Did I?"

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "You _know _you did," she replied.

Silence fell, and for the first time, Narcissa dropped her gaze. There was a note of uncertainty in her voice when she next spoke. "Did you mean it?" she asked, just as he blurted out "And what did you say?"

She looked up sharply. "What difference does that make?"

"Er . . . well . . . . none, I suppose." Lucius frowned, and cast his gaze about the room. He finally settled for examining the bowl of petunias on the window sill, as though they had suddenly become immensely interesting. Much more interesting than, for instance, the question he was about to ask. "What _did_ you say?" he asked carefully, feeling suddenly overheated and uncomfortable in the ridiculous hospital nightgown he seemed to be wearing. "Just out of . . . interest." He jumped as Narcissa made a rather strange sound, as though she had just choked on something.

He turned his attention back to her, alarmed, only to find that she was watching him, her head tilted to one side and the beginnings of a smile playing about her lips. He had the horrible feeling she'd just laughed at him.

"What's so funny?"he asked, nonplussed.

Narcissa giggled. "Nothing. Everything. Well, specifically _you, _actually."

"Me?" Lucius repeated, bewildered. "What? Why am I funny?"

Narcissa laughed again and then she stretched out, catlike, and put her head on the pillow, so that she was lying next to him, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes as bright as stars. Lucius had the feeling this wasn't really allowed, in a hospital, but there was absolutely no way he was going to tell her that.

"Because," Narcissa murmered, "you're as blind as you've ever been, aren't you?"

"_Blind?"_ Lucius could see perfectly, as far as he knew.

He felt Narcissa nod. "Mm-hm. You are blind sometimes." She smothered another giggle. "Because you've never noticed, and you _still _can't see it, can you?"

"See what?" What was he supposed to be seeing? The ceiling? He could see that perfectly well. Nor had he ever had any problem seeing it, that he could recall . . . .

Narcissa smothered another giggle, this time burying her face in his shoulder to muffle the sound and inadvertently giving him goosebumps. "I love you," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. She pulled back, studying him. "You see?"

Lucius put out a hand, running a thumb gently over her cheek and down her neck, pulling her close again, into a kiss that was as much for her strangeness as for her laugh and his confusion and a multitude of other things he couldn't understand and didn't quite know how to explain . . . . but felt all the same.

"I see now," he said softly, kissing her neck.

Narcissa laughed again, melting against him. "Oh good," she said breathlessly. "Now I can tell you about the stick!"

Lucius froze. "The _what?" _


	20. Untouched

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by the Veronicas. (The only song I know by them, lol.) I've had this chapter in my head for such a long time. So it's quite strange seeing it liberated from my notes at last! Reviews make me ridiculously happy. Possibly even happier than writing Lucius / Narcissa fluff . . . . possibly. So let me know what you think. And that's all for now. I shall try to update soon. Enjoy!**

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**Untouched**

"I thought you said you didn't need it."

Narcissa was standing in the grounds of Malfoy Manor, smiling as the hot July sun sank slowly into the horizon, a fiery orange ball that drenched everything in borrowed heat as it disappeared, from the polished wood in her hands to the sharp stalks of grass beneath her bare feet.

"That was a . . . a figure of speech! And I didn't mean you ought to steal it, Narcissa!" Lucius held out a hand, exasperated. "Give it back. Please."

Cissy considered this, turning the stick over in her hands. "No," she retorted. "I don't think I will. You'll have to come and get it!"

Lucius stared at her. "You can't be serious," he said slowly.

Narcissa giggled. "I was never more serious about anything in my life," she declared dramatically, raising the cane above her head and waving it teasingly.

Lucius continued to stare at her, alarmed. "Narcissa," he began again, in a reasonable tone, "it really isn't that amusing – _Narcissa!" _

Cissy's only response to this had been to pick up her heels and start running, through the flowerbeds and past the sundial and the swing, laughing all the more at the sound of Lucius' oaths and exclamations behind her.

"See, you can't even catch me! I _told _you you needed it!" she called. "Even if it does make you look like an old man!"

"What?!" Lucius gave a sort of strangled yelp. "I said it made me _feel _like an old man!" he corrected, horrified. "Not look like one!"

Narcissa couldn't help it. She skidded to a stop in front of the fountain and turned back to take in his stricken expression. "Ooops," she said, giggling. "Well that's what I meant. Um. Obviously."

Lucius could only stare at her, open-mouthed and apparently too offended to speak. Of course, he could just be out of breath. Even Narcissa had to admit that Lucius wasn't a particularly athletic person. Or athletic at all, really.

Cissy hid the stick behind her back. "Um . . . sorry?" she offered, spoiling the apology a little by starting to laugh again halfway through.

Lucius had turned a rather delightful shade of pink. Really, she thought, she ought to insult his vanity more often.

"That's it," Lucius announced. "There's a simple way to solve this." He pulled out his wand. "_Accio-" _

"Oh no you don't!" Narcissa ducked just in time. "Spoilsport!" she taunted, as his second attempt at a Summoning Charm missed her completely and bounced off the rim of the fountain. She waved the stick cheerily and stuck out her tongue. And then Lucius pointed his wand at her, and she shrieked.

She was floating six feet above the ground, the glassy waters of the fountain sparkling directly below her. The pearls around her neck slipped off and dropped into the water, which suddenly seemed a lot further away.

"Lucius!" she screamed. "Put me down!"

Lucius began to laugh. "Now, now darling," he said smoothly. "That sort of attitude won't get you anywhere in life. Why, I may even turn you upside-down." He chuckled. "Are you going to be reasonable? Are you going to give it back to me?"

Narcissa gripped the stick more tightly. "No," she said obstinantly. "I shan't!"

She seemed to be suspended by invisible ropes bound around her wrists and waist and ankles. At her words, however, their grip seemed to slacken and she felt herself fall forwards by at least a foot, before stopping again. She gasped.

"Please, please!" she cried. "Let me down!"

"Well now, that's much more polite," Lucius drawled. "But you know, Miss Black, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Cissy swallowed. Her hesitation cost her another foot, and she yelped.

"Alright, alright!" she exclaimed. "I surrender! Here! You can have it!" She threw the stick at him in a blind panic, squeezing her eyelids shut. "Just let me down!"

Lucius cried "Ow!" and before she knew what was happening, she had begun to fall again. Narcissa covered her face with her hands and screamed, assuming he had lost concentration and let her fall. A cool breeze whipped her hair and the spray from the fountain soaked her sundress. She was going to fall, she was going to drown, she was going to hit the -

What she hit, however, wasn't the water. It was something warm and solid, and she realized abruptly that Lucius hadn't lost concentration at all. He had caught her. He'd only been _pretending. _

Narcissa gasped, appalled, and then she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. She didn't know if she wanted to laugh at what Lucius had just done or cry over it, to kiss him or hit him. Lucius kissed the top of her head and laughed unsteadily.

"You know I would never have let you fall," he said softly.

"You might have!" Narcissa replied hysterically. "You have terrible concentration!"

Lucius frowned. "I do not," he said indignantly.

"Yes you do! I could have drowned!" Narcissa accused, prodding him in the chest. This, however, was not a particularly wise idea, given that Lucius had never actually bothered to pick up his walking stick. He was immediately unbalanced and fell to the ground, pulling her down with him. Cissy gasped, but before she had a chance to catch her breath, his lips were on hers and he was kissing her, and that was all she could think about, all she _wanted _to think about. The lawn was warm and her dress was damp and the air smelled like flowers, hundreds and hundreds of them, a smell so sweet it was overpowering all on its own. Intoxicating, almost. And it was so _hot. _Had she really not noticed it before? If she had then she surely hadn't felt it properly. Not until right now. The heat was like something solid, filling her lungs and making it hard to breathe, setting her skin on fire. She didn't want to feel like this, it was making her head spin. And so she did the only thing that made any sense, the only thing that made the sudden heat tolerable – she kissed Lucius, digging her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.

He kissed her back, and everything else seemed to vanish. Because he had never kissed her quite like this before. There was an edge to it, as though he had forgotten to treat her as carefully as he usually did. Narcissa arched her back and dug her fingers in harder, pulling him in closer because she couldn't seem to get him close _enough, _somehow and it was driving her insane. She gasped, shivers running down her spine as his hands brushed against her waist, and before she really knew what was happening his fingers were dancing across her ribs, but that was alright anyway because her hands had found their way under his shirt somehow and -

Lucius pulled away from her with a gasp and struggled to his feet.

"I should . . you should . . we should . . ." He spluttered incoherently, and Narcissa stared at him, disorientated.

"I don't understand," she managed at last. "What are you – where are you _going?" _

He had stumbled away from her, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Really, I-"

Narcissa stood up. "What are you sorry _for?" _she asked, nonplussed. "Lucius! Where are you going?"

He avoided her eye. "I have to go," he said. "I mean I ought to go . . . I ought to go . . home-"

"But-" Lucius turned on the spot and disapparated, leaving Cissy to finish the sentence without anyone to hear it. "We're at your house!" she cried into thin air.

She stood for a moment in mystified, bewildered silence, staring at the spot where Lucius had been. A cool breeze started up, and she shivered, feeling oddly forlorn.

The strange thing was . . . . Narcissa hadn't really realized how much she wanted him to stay. Not until he was already gone.


	21. Champagne For My Real Friends

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Fall Out Boy. **

**Remember Priscilla Parkinson? Narcissa's somewhat slutty sometime friend from chapters eight and nine? Well, she's back. She's also drunk in this chapter, so her grammar is not the best. Drunk people have difficulty assembling grammatically correct sentences, as we all know, so if you see a lot of repetition in hers, a lot of words that essentially mean the same thing etc, it's intentionally done . . . just in case anyone might want to point it out to me. Also, the nicknames are quite amusing aren't they? Cilla and Cissy. Strange coincidence . . . I only just noticed it. **

**I think that's all I have to say, for now. Enjoy, and let me know what you think, as always. **

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**Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends**

The wonderful thing about being a member of pureblood society was that scarcely a fortnight passed without a party invite arriving in the post. The _not _so wonderful thing about being a member of pureblood society, Narcissa reflected, was that by the time a girl turned seventeen, she had attended so many parties she might be forgiven for wanting to scream as another invitation for a must-attend social function dropped into her lap. Not that she wouldn't attend, of course. She just might begin a feel a little resentful about it.

This week, it was the wedding of two people – one of them Italian, both of them pureblood, naturally – that Narcissa had never spoken to in her life.

"Honestly," she complained aloud. "We don't even _know _them!"

"So?" Priscilla Parkinson laughed. "Who cares?"

Priscilla obviously didn't. Barefoot at the wedding reception, she had kicked off her shoes and was now perched on top of the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, downing cocktails so quickly it was almost indecent.

"Hey, Cissy," she asked abruptly. "Do I look like a whore?"

Narcissa hesitated. Her friend was wearing a bright yellow dress that wasn't particularly nice, but surprisingly, wasn't too suggestive either. If she hadn't been sitting on the bar getting roaring drunk, Priscilla could actually have passed for demure. Cissy shook her head.

"No," she said, mystified. "Actually, you _don't. _Why?"

"Because," Priscilla sniffed, "there was a real creep coming on to me earlier. I wasn't even _flirting _with him either. So he must have thought I looked really easy." She snapped the olive off her cocktail stick and popped it into her mouth with a sour expression. Cissy watched the olive turn round inside her mouth as Priscilla continued. "Avery's not paying any attention to me either. It's just not _fair. _You know?"

Narcissa glanced at Lucius, who was standing on the other side of the room talking to someone who was quite clearly boring him silly. She sighed. "I know," she muttered. She still had no idea what was wrong with Lucius, and her head was starting to hurt, trying to make sense of it all. Honestly, one minute things had been fine between them – more than fine, in fact – and the next, he couldn't seem to get away from her fast enough! And there was just no talking to him. He had come to take her to the wedding, of course, but every time she tried to talk to him he distracted her with drinks or dancing or introductions or _something. _She was starting to feel really panicked. Especially because she had a feeling – more than a _feeling, _really – that if he hadn't all but run away from her yesterday . . . well, they might have . . . they might have . . . Cissy bit her lip, nervously smoothing the taffeta skirts of her green dress. _They might have had sex. _But he had run away. What did that mean? That he didn't want to? Or that he just didn't want to with _her? _Cissy swirled her drink unhappily as Priscilla drained the contents of her own and smacked her lips.

"You know what I don't understand?" Priscilla demanded.

"Erm . . ." Narcissa frowned, casting her gaze about the room for a clue. This was Priscilla, after all. There were a _lot _of possible answers to that question. "Teetotallers?" she suggested, watching Priscilla mix her third drink.

Cilla threw an entire handful of olives into her glass. "No," she said savagely. "_Men!" _

"Oh." Cissy wasn't about to argue with that.

"It's like they've all got virgin-whore syndrome or something."

Narcissa choked. "They've all got what?" she asked curiously.

Priscilla began to swing her legs, kicking her heels against the bar. "Virgin-whore syndrome," she declared, enunciating carefully. "They think all women are either virgins" - she jerked a thumb at Narcissa - "or whores." She waved her free hand at herself, slopping a little of her drink down her front.

Cissy blushed. "That's ridiculous," she protested. "So as soon as you sleep with someone, you become a whore? Is that what you're saying?"

Priscilla groaned. "No," she said emphatically. "That's not what I'm saying! It's not even about sex. It's about how they think of you. I mean, me, I'm _always _the whore, you know? I'm always the tart."

Narcissa opened her mouth, about to point out that Priscilla had never really done much to refute this. But her friend had already charged on.

"And _you're _the virgin," she said acidly. "You're the good girl, you know? You're practically a nun. You could be sleeping with every man here and they'd probably still think you should be canonized. You have this whole golden girl aura, it's sickening. It's just not _fair!" _

She threw her hands up in the air, inadvertently splashing herself with alcohol. Seeing this, she stared at her now-soaked dress in horror, and her bottom lip began to wobble, as if she might cry. Narcissa stared at her. She had never seen Priscilla look so upset.

"Well, maybe . . . maybe it's not so wonderful to be thought of as the good girl all the time either," she suggested, hoping to appease her friend.

It worked. The merest hint of someone else's misery, and Priscilla cheered up straight away. "I knew it!" she said gleefully. "He put pressure on you to have sex, right?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. "Before you were ready? And then he made you cry!" She was all but hopping up and down in delight, pointing a finger accusingly in Lucius' direction.

Narcissa knocked her friend's arm away immediately, praying Lucius hadn't seen her pointing at him. "No!" she said firmly. "He did not."

Priscilla chewed one of her olives thoughtfully. "Are you _sure?" _she asked, disappointed. "Maybe he was manipulating you," she suggested hopefully.

Narcissa reddened. "No, he wasn't," she insisted. "He wouldn't do that to me. And besides, we haven't even . . . you know."

Priscilla spat out her olive in shock. "What, _never?" _she exclaimed incredulously. "But . . but . . . you've been together for, what" - she broke off, counting on her fingers. It seemed to take quite a long time. "Two months?"

Narcissa shrugged. Priscilla continued to gape at her. "But . . . but . . ." She fell silent. "Wow," she said at last. She stabbed her cocktail stick moodily into her drink. "He must _really_ like you," she mumbled sullenly.

Narcissa felt her face flame. _I thought he did. I thought he loved me. _"He does," she murmered. "Why are you drinking so much?" she asked suddenly, searching for a distraction.

"Oh." Priscilla swallowed again, looking a little bitter, and by this stage, extremely drunk. "See . . ." She giggled hysterically. "I had a scare," she confided in a slurred stage-whisper.

Cissy blinked at her. "What kind of scare?" she asked blankly.

Priscilla shoved her rather roughly. "Don't be dumb," she said. "What do you think? A _pregnancy _scare, _obviously."_

Narcissa felt her mouth fall open. When she had recovered her wits, she realized it was probably a good thing it had only been a scare. Priscilla really wasn't motherhood materiel.

"Well, at least it was only a scare," she said diplomatically, deciding to voice only the first half of this little revelation out loud.

To her horror, Priscilla began to giggle again, knocking back the rest of her drink. She laughed and laughed, uncontrollably, throwing her head back and clinging to the rim of the bar as though it were the ledge of a seventeen story building. "S – see," she slurred. "The thing is . . . I never found out. I mean, I was too scared! So I never found out, and now I'm _still . . . _scared . . . Isn't it funny?"

Narcissa's eyes widened. "No!" she cried, appalled. "It's _not _funny, Cilla!" She wrenched the glass out of her friend's hand. "How many of these have you had?" she demanded, horrorstruck.

Priscilla shrugged. "A few. I was thinking maybe I could drink it out." She laughed. "I don't think it's working," she confided conspiratorially.

"I should hope not! I . ." Narcissa had never been so completely and utterly lost for words. "Have you told Avery?" she managed at last.

"No."

"Well I really think you should. And you shouldn't drink any more, for heaven's sake!" Cissy insisted. It was the most horribly selfish thing she could think of, though she had the feeling it wouldn't do to tell Priscilla that at this point. "It might be a good idea to start calling Avery 'Christopher' too," she added as an afterthought.

"I don't want to tell him."

"What?" Narcissa frowned. "Priscilla," she said reasonably, "you can't just not tell him. He's going to find out. And besides, he has a right to know."

"No, he doesn't!" Priscilla had turned a furious shade of scarlet. "He doesn't need to know. Because do you know why? All he'll do, if he finds out, is propose to me."

Cissy stared at her. "You don't want to marry him?" she asked, bewildered.

Priscilla shook her head vehemently. "No," she said fiercely. "I _do _want him to propose to me. I just don't want him to do it because of some kid, because he thinks he _has _to. . ." Her voice cracked. "It would be nice," she said, "just once, if someone wanted me for me, you know? Not for whatever they can get out of me, and not because they want to make someone jealous and not because I'm just _there . . ."_

Narcissa stared at her. "I don't understand."

"Well of course you don't!" Priscilla exploded. "Because you're such a _good girl_, and you're destroying people's relationships and you don't even notice!"

"I don't -"

"He's in love with you!" Priscilla almost screamed.

"_What?" _

"Avery," Priscilla spat. "He's in love with you or something, it's horrible. He talks about you all the time and he says all these things like .. . like how I should be more like you, and he just _stares _at you when we're in the same room as you, and he says _your _name when we're-"

"Alright, alright, stop it!" Narcissa cried, alarmed. "I don't want to hear any more!" She took a deep breath. Once upon a time – say, when she had been going out with Avery and Priscilla had been flinging herself at him at every opportunity - this situation might have amused her. But now, it just horrified her. "Priscilla," she said, as soothingly as she could, "He isn't in love with me. We were going out together, remember? And he never said it. Don't you think he would have mentioned it, if he was in love with me?" Priscilla said nothing to this. She simply stared at her companion, as though Cissy were quite possibly the dimmest person she'd ever met. Narcissa sighed. "We broke up," she reminded Priscilla. "And I haven't even spoken to him since. I'm not going to take him away from you, Cilla. He's yours. I don't love him. I don't want him."

Priscilla froze, and then she jumped off the bar, wrinkling her nose as her bare feet touched the sticky pub floor. She hefted a bottle of champagne out of a bucket of ice and blew the cork off with her wand, ignoring Cissy's attempts to snatch it away from her.

"Well maybe," she hissed nastily, "you should have been more of a bitch when you broke up with him, shouldn't you? Maybe then he wouldn't think you're such a _nice girl, _and maybe then he would have found it easier to get over you!"

"Priscil-"

"No! I don't want to hear it! Now if you don't mind," Priscilla said venemously, her nose in the air, "I'm going to take my champagne and my maybe-baby and find myself a good time!"

She stormed off, leaving Narcissa to stare after her, open-mouthed and lost for words. At last Cissy sighed and sat back down, fingering the stem of her champagne flute and and twirling idly back and forth on her stool as she watched Lucius on the other side of the room. She sipped her drink, wondering. What did he think of her? Did he think she was a good girl too?

Probably.

Was that good or bad?

Not that it really mattered, of course. Priscilla hadn't been too far wrong. She _was _a good girl, wasn't she? Sweet. Innocent. Inexperienced. Naive.

Lucius – now trapped in a conversation with her aunt Walburga - caught her eye and smirked. Cissy rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. Aunt Walburga was probably saying something humiliating, telling him to make an honest woman of her niece or warning him not to "corrupt the girl's innocence" . . . .

Narcissa choked.

"Oh _Merlin!" _she said, stunned, as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She stared at Lucius, caught somewhere between horror and amusement.

"You _can't _be serious!"


	22. I Think We're Alone Now

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by The Birthday Massacre. (I know it's not an original song - it's been covered by quite a lot of people - but that's the version I have so that's the one I'm crediting the title to. The original is by someone called Tiffany, I think, but I could be wrong . . . not that it really matters, of course.) **

**Thanks to Beth and Martine as well, my two anon reviewers! I'm glad you're both enjoying the story! **

**Also, I'm about to hit 200 reviews for this fic, which is probably, honestly, one of the best things to have happened to me all year. So I don't know what to say, really, apart from thank you all so much. I never imagined I'd ever get this many reviews for _anything_. You're all absolutely amazing and I love you for it. (In a non-weird, non-schmaltzy way, don't worry. ) Thanks! **

* * *

**I Think We're Alone Now**

Narcissa was pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor, wearing down the flagstones and tangling her thoughts up even further with each impatient step. She stopped abruptly and swallowed hard, picking up a spoon and examining her reflection on the curved silver surface. She looked pale and nervous. Hardly surprising, when her stomach was full of butterflies. Lucius should be here by now, shouldn't he? She checked the time, again. Yes. He s_hould _be here by now. Cissy fiddled anxiously with the clasp of her watch, and then she jumped. Why was she still wearing a watch? Wouldn't he find that strange? The only other thing she was wearing, after all, was a short silk dressing-gown, the cord around the waist knotted so tightly he wouldn't notice she was wearing something even smaller and silkier underneath it. And red. Narcissa felt a little bit foolish, but red had certainly had an interesting effect on Lucius before. And in a situation in which she wanted him to stop being so self-controlled . . . . well, Cissy was going to avail of any weapon at her disposal.

But the watch would seem strange. She unbuckled it quickly, only to find herself facing the dilemma of where to put it. It wasn't as if she had any pockets in this . . . outfit. And it was a nice watch – she didn't want to vanish it. Panicking as she cast her gaze about the kitchen, she settled for sticking the troublesome item into the sugar bowl, popping the lid back on quickly and praying one of the house elves wouldn't come in to make tea before morning. She sat in awkward silence for a minute, and then she found herself pacing again. She couldn't help it. Her whole life, Cissy had found herself inventing little compulsive habits to calm her down when she was nervous. The habits themselves changed quite frequently, but the need to do _something _to distract herself never had. Still, she really ought to stop. Behaving like a nervous wreck was _not _going to convince Lucius she was cool, calm, and in control.

"Cool, calm and in control," Cissy murmered, staring at her reflection in the glass of the grandfather clock and feeling more foolish than ever. After all, what sort of hopeless lunatic sought reassurance from _her own reflection?_ The thought of Lucius' smirk if he could see her now made her blush, and she let out a little groan of despair, watching the minute hand of the clock bisect one reflected blue eye.

Tick.

Tock.

Oh, for heaven's sake! Surely he should be here by now? Cissy folded her arms and stamped her foot, feeling rather petulant. "You know it's rude to make a girl wait," she muttered fiercely. "Rude, and inconsiderate, and selfish, and-"

She gasped. There was no longer any sound coming out of her mouth. Her eyes widened and her hands flew to her throat, and then she opened her mouth and screamed, only to find that her voice had suddenly been restored. She jumped, horrified, as someone pressed a hand against her mouth - effectively silencing her again - and spun her round.

"_Lucius!" _she cried.

He had made the mistake of lowering his hand, and Narcissa's shocked scream – several decibels higher than it would usually have been – made him wince. He laughed. "Ow."

Cissy's only response to this was to whack him on the arm, which, infuriatingly, only made Lucius laugh again.

"You don't seem very sick," he drawled.

Cissy summoned her best glare and hit him again. "What are you doing here?" she cried hysterically. "You can't just apparate into my house like that, it's not _fair! _It's not – you can't – you -"

Lucius pulled her in close - ignoring her feeble attempts to hit him again - and kissed her until she stopped struggling. By the time he broke the kiss, she was breathless and far too weak at the knees to think hitting him was a good idea. He might let go of her, and then she'd probably fall over – an additional humilation she'd much rather avoid.

"You Silenced me!" she accused, as soon as she had amassed enough air to speak.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You were being rather uncomplimentary about me," he pointed out. "Rude? Inconsiderate? Selfish? I was starting to feel slighted, you know."

He smirked, and Cissy felt her face burn. "You were not," she said sullenly. "Liar."

Lucius continued as though he hadn't heard this additional insult. "Besides," he added, his smirk widening a little, "you might have woken your mother."

Narcissa paused. The mention of her mother, oddly enough, was what reminded her that she was supposed to be _scheming_. She tilted her head to the side, considering.

"You look nice," she said slowly. "Were you at a party?"

Lucius blinked, thrown by the sudden change of subject. "Er . . . no. Drinks. At the Carrows'."

It was Narcissa's turn to raise an eyebrow now. "The suspected criminal Carrows?" she asked suspiciously.

Lucius laughed. "We're all criminals, Narcissa. The only difference is that some of us are clever enough not to be suspected of it, and _most _of us are clever enough not to get caught."

His laughter trailed off uncomfortably as Narcissa ran a finger up and down his sleeve, contemplating her next move.

"You look nice," she repeated, more softly this time, her fingers creeping slowly up to his neck and starting to pick at the knot of his tie.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm vain?" Lucius asked doubtfully. He seemed to think there might be another insult hidden in the compliment.

Narcissa opened her mouth, about to reassure him, and then she realized it might be a good idea to distract him.

"Maybe," she teased, loosening his collar, which seemed to have a ridiculous amount of starch in it and could hardly be comfortable. Lucius didn't object to this, but a faint frown line appeared on his forehead when – having opened the top two buttons of his shirt already – she moved on to the third.

"I wouldn't worry about my mother," Narcissa said softly. "She takes a sleeping potion every night at eight. She's dead to the world until the next morning. Really." She giggled. "The house could fall down around her ears and she wouldn't wake up."

"Er . . I . . . I thought you were sick," Lucius managed at last, watching Narcissa pull off his cufflinks and drop them onto the table.

Cissy smiled back at him, as innocently as she could under the circumstances. "Is that what I said?"

Lucius nodded, and she blushed. "Oops. Well, what I meant was, I needed to see you," she explained. To own the truth, Cissy had absolutely no idea what had been in the letter she'd sent him less than an hour ago. Which was funny, really, because she'd spent a ridiculously long time making sure every sentence was perfect before she sent it. Before she'd even picked up the quill to write it, in fact, she'd been turning the message over and over in her mind, thinking of a foolproof ruse to get him here. Funny, then, that she couldn't recall a word of it now that the recipient was standing in front of her. _Oh well, _she thought with a smile, _I have more important things to pay attention to now. _

"Couldn't it wait until tomorrow morning?" Lucius asked, still several steps behind Narcissa's thought process.

Cissy laughed. "No."

"Why n – wait a minute." Lucius interrupted himself abruptly, staring at her as a new question occurred to him. "What . . . what are you . . ." He began to blink very rapidly. "What are you _wearing?"_

Narcissa cut this question off by tugging on Lucius' collar and kissing him. He didn't react for a moment, apparently confused by how quickly her mood was turning tonight. She decided to persist anyway, knowing that he'd give in soon. Sure enough, he abandoned any attempts to question her further almost immediately and kissed her back, wrapping an arm around her waist and almost lifting her off her feet. Apparently the red had had an even better effect on him than before. Of course, they weren't at Pandora's post-exam party now, and this wasn't a dress. But still. The theory had proved to be really quite sound, Cissy mused, fighting a sudden urge to giggle which she overcame with difficulty, feeling now might not be the best moment to burst out laughing. Not that it really mattered anyway. She was getting her way, and the battle was half-won. He would normally have pulled away by now, but he hadn't, and that told Cissy all she'd ever needed to know. He wanted her.

So she kissed him fiercely, intently, the way she had that afternoon by the fountain – as if he were the only real thing in the world, and as if this moment was all that mattered, all that would _ever _matter. She felt him stumble into the table and laughed as he swore under his breath, a word that she swallowed with a kiss. She heard the faint metallic clink as his cufflinks fell to the floor, let out a giggle she couldn't stop as she stepped on them in her bare feet.

"Mmph!"

Cissy stumbled just as Lucius hit the door frame. He caught her just in time, and they froze, both breathing hard.

Narcissa broke the awkward silence at last with a laugh. She couldn't help it. "How did you manage to walk into the door frame?" she teased.

"I think you pushed me into it," Lucius replied irritably.

"I tripped! On _your _cufflinks!"

"Well, I don't recall taking them off."

"I don't recall you objecting," Narcissa retorted.

"What do you expect? You're trying to drive me out of my mind!"

Cissy stifled a laugh, badly. Lucius groaned. "What now?" he asked, exasperated.

Cissy touched a hand to his cheek, smiling. "You're _blushing," _she accused, delighted.

Lucius reddened. "I am not. Don't be so ridiculous."

"Yes, you _are!"_

Given that Lucius had scared her out of her wits earlier, Cissy felt justified in teasing him now. Just a little.

"Don't worry. I still think you look nice," she continued cheerfully. "It's such a nice colour, isn't it? Red . . . ."

"Not on my face it isn't."

"Hmm. Well, you know what they say. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that . . . . " Narcissa stroked his cheek, brushing her fingers softly against the skin. Back and forth, a touch as light as a painter's. The action was strangely soothing. Hypnotic, almost. Up and down . . . . back and forth . . . . . a feather-light movement to match each steady breath. Suddenly, she didn't feel like teasing any more. Her fingertips tingled, a strange calm settling over her heart. Lucius shut his eyes, becoming utterly still at her touch, and Cissy realized she didn't want to play games any more, or to worry. She simply wanted to _be,_ even if it was only for a little while.

So she let her hand fall, and pressed her lips gently to his, pulling back again as he opened his eyes.

"I think we need to talk," she whispered.


	23. You're The One That I Want

**A / N : First things first – sorry for the update delay. I've been busier than even I expected, what with waiting for a baby to come (not mine, don't worry!), having all my appointments rescheduled, having my computer's antivirus system fail on me, and various other annoyances. I didn't mean to leave you all hanging in such an annoying place, really. (I'm not that sadistic!) And I've been just dying to write, but haven't had the time. Thanks to the lovely Expecting Rain for reminding me I hadn't updated in nearly two weeks and galvanizing me into finishing this for you all! I'll try not to let that happen again, I promise. **

**Oooh, though, who's seen the HBP movie? Isn't it great? (Okay, so I hated movie Narcissa, and I think they got her character all wrong . . . . . not that I understand how they managed that, it isn't so hard to read the book, after all . . . . but I digress. My point is, the film is fantastic! Best yet, I think . . . )**

**Right, the chapter! Just a quick note for anyone I didn't already tell this to in a review reply or something . . . . I don't write smut. I'm sure there are people who do it very well, but I am not one of them, and I'd like to keep my fic teen-rated, so . . . . no smut from me. No gory details! (Hopefully this is chapter is still, um, teen-rated enough though. .. . particularly the end . . . lol.) **

**Thanks to Martine and Shawna (yep, you _were _my 200th review. Thanks very muchly! ;) ) as well as everyone else who reviewed. You're all dizzingly positive about this fic, and (did I mention this before?) I love you for it. **

**Chapter title is from the song by Olivia Newton John and John Travolta (yes, that would be The One At The End Of Grease). Enjoy, and let me know your thoughts as always! Hopefully it was worth the wait? **

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**You're The One That I Want**

Narcissa felt so nervous she was starting to think she might actually throw up. Lucius was watching her with one eyebrow raised and a curious sort of half-smirk playing about his lips, as if he thought her a little mad . . . . but not unpleasantly so. Cissy swallowed, trying to calm her nerves. _Don't be such a coward_, she told herself furiously. _You_ _do want this, don't you? Then stop being such a . . . . good_ _girl . . . and ask for it, for heaven's sake!_

"Sit," she said suddenly, wincing a little at the commanding note in her voice. Lucius frowned as she grabbed his hand impatiently, tugging him onto the bed beside her.

"What?" he asked apprehensively. "What's wrong?"

Narcissa stared at him, biting her lip. What was she supposed to say? "Will you sleep with me?" "Let's make love?" Oh _Merlin._ What had she been thinking of? She couldn't do this. She'd die of embarrassment. She'd . . . .

"Kiss me," she blurted out, surprising herself.

Lucius' frown deepened. He now looked as though he were really starting to fear for her sanity. "What?"

This was ridiculous. If she didn't do something soon, Cissy felt sure she would throw up. Or pass out. Or possibly -

This train of thought never reached its conclusion because Cissy, annoyed at herself, decided it was much simpler to distract herself by kissing Lucius. He laughed as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, almost falling into his lap and knocking them both to the floor. But after a moment he began to kiss her back. He always did.

Which was quite reassuring, really.

Still, she should have remembered, really, that she was a Black girl, which meant things were never as simple as they seemed. Her attempts to push Lucius backwards could hardly escape his attention for long, especially given that Lucius was quite possibly the most rigid and unyielding person she'd ever known, and Cissy herself had arms like matchsticks and the upper-body strength of a gnat. Her attempts to cut off his objections with passionate kisses didn't succeed for long either. He prised her off eventually and stared at her.

"What exactly are you trying to-"

Cissy felt her face flame. "Kiss me," she interrupted, reaching for him again.

But Lucius caught her wrists easily and pushed her arms gently back to her sides. "You said you wanted to talk," he reminded her.

Narcissa felt her face fall into a familiar pout. This wouldn't be half so agonizing if it was anyone other than Lucius she was trying to talk to. But he made any emotional discussion seem ten times more excruciating than it should be, because he was just so awkward about things like that. And really, there was no reason he should be awkward about _this_. After all, it wouldn't be the first time _he_ had ever slept with someone. Cissy was almost sure of this – though it made her feel oddly, unjustly hot and sick inside – because she had spent nearly four years as a spectator on the sidelines, watching the things Lucius usually called "relationships" fall apart at the seams. Usually, they fell apart because Lucius himself was staggeringly detached from them, and because he quite frequently grew bored of and irritated by his so-called girlfriends. Sometimes, he forgot their names in conversation or ignored them in other people's presence. (Well, in Cissy's presence, anyway.) Not that she had ever really minded the resentful looks this earned her. Lucius' girlfriends were all so petty and boring, it was no wonder even he couldn't stand them. More than once, Narcissa herself had been cited as a factor in the demise of his relationship. Apparently, his girlfriends had found it annoying that he spent so much time with a girl he was not (according to him) romantically interested in. Now – having had Avery cite almost the same reason for her own break-up – Cissy had some idea how that felt. She also had some idea how spectacularly dense Lucius could be about his own feelings, sometimes. She wondered, dimly, how long Lucius had been in love with her for. And how long it had taken him to become aware of the fact.

Of course, that was why this was so awkward, and even Cissy could see the irony in that. Because he loved her, and Lucius seemed to think the best way of handling that was to over-think every little thing so he wouldn't get it wrong. Probably because he secretly didn't have a clue how to get it _right_.

Narcissa sighed. He was watching her now, apparently expecting her to start another uncomfortable conversation about love, or the Cause . . .. . She smiled.

"It can wait. Just . . . kiss me. That's all I want." _For now. _

Lucius frowned at her. He seemed to think she was trying to distract him, so that she could spring a difficult topic on him when he wasn't thinking straight. Narcissa giggled. Was that what she was doing?

"Oh for heaven's sake . . ." she murmered. His apprehensive expression was almost too funny for words. So she tugged on his collar and pulled him closer to her, kissing him until he relaxed a little, apparently deciding to trust her, and kissed her back. She couldn't help laughing but he didn't seem to mind, as he pulled her in and kissed her until she could hardly breathe anymore, let alone laugh. He broke the kiss and laughed himself as she gasped for air.

Well if he wanted to be devious, Cissy could play him at his own game.

She tilted her head back and let Lucius kiss her neck while she curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. As soon as she had a firm grip she swept her feet off the floor and fell back onto the bed, pulling him down with her. Lucius hardly seemed to notice. His cool fingers were trailing across her bare waist, dancing over her ribs as he stamped kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, and her head was spinning . . . ..

Narcissa plucked impatiently at the knot of his tie, worming it free at last and yanking it off as she pulled roughly at the collar of his shirt – really, she'd have to say something about all this starch, it was ridiculous. Her objection to the starch was forgotten an instant later, however, as she realized that one of Lucius' hands had moved from her hip to her thigh, making her stomach flip. His lips skimmed her collarbone, and then he pressed them to her chest, right above her fluttering heart, and she suddenly felt as if all her senses had slipped out of kilter. Her head wasn't the only thing that was spinning now. Her heart was spinning too, faster and higher and sharper and further than ever before, as if it might burst out of her chest. So she wound her arms around Lucius' neck and slyly shifted position, bringing her leg up a little and trapping him in place while he was busy kissing her neck. As soon as she was sure he couldn't jump up again easily, she pulled his chin up and whispered in his ear.

"Stay. I want you to stay."

He froze, as she had known he would when she brought him back to earth. Then he fell back against the bed.

"No," he said slowly. "You don't."

"What?" Cissy stared. "Yes," she retorted, "I _do. _I wouldn't tell you so if I didn't-"

"Think it was what I want to hear," Lucius interrupted.

"No!" Cissy scowled, annoyed. A moment later, she realized annoyance wasn't going to get her anywhere. Lucius didn't respond well to arguments. So she changed tack, rolling onto her stomach and propping her elbows up against the pillows. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't want to," she insisted. "You should really pay more attention, you know, instead of just thinking you're right all the time."

This got no response, so she decided to try again. "You can't say you don't want to."

"I don't," he replied automatically.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she remarked dryly.

Lucius groaned, and Cissy laughed, recognizing it as a sign of surrender.

"Well clearly _I _do," Lucius snapped . "But _you _don't. You think I'm putting you under pressure. Or that I'll-"

"Do you really want to know what I think?" Cissy interjected.

Lucius shut up at once, apparently shocked by the interruption. Usually, she let him talk and talk until her eyes glazed over, and he returned the favour by the listening to all manner of petty annoyances Narcissa knew he was unlikely to truly care about.

"I think you need to stop thinking so much," she said firmly. "You're so absorbed in how you think I'm feeling that you completely miss what I'm actually trying to show you!" His expression flickered, and she sighed. "Doesn't it drive you mad? All this _thinking, _all the time? My head would implode, if it were me!"

Lucius frowned. "No," he said. "It doesn't. Not when I'm with-" He stopped talking suddenly and bit back the rest of his sentence, as though appalled at himself.

"Not when you're what?" Cissy asked curiously.

He groaned again, and shut his eyes. "Not when I'm with you," he muttered, as if he were confessing to a secret love of kittens, or the colour pink.

Cissy blinked. "Really?"

"Yes." Lucius opened his eyes again, frowning at her. "You know that. Because I . .." He grimaced, making a rather confusing gesture that seemed to be something involving her, and his chest. "Well, you . . . I mean . . . you _know."_

Narcissa frowned. "Know what?"

"That you – that I – do I really have to say it?" he asked despairingly.

Narcissa laughed as she realized what he was really trying to convey. "That you love me?" she suggested.

"Yes! Ahem. Precisely."

Cissy couldn't help laughing again, and Lucius groaned. "It's not that funny," he complained.

Narcissa stopped laughing and studied him for a moment. "No," she said ponderously. "You're right. It's not that funny." After all, she could hardly talk. Was she really any better? There were things she was embarrassed to say too. She took a deep breath. _Do it. Say it. Tell him. _"I want to do it," she said carefully, ignoring the blush colouring her cheeks and refusing to allow herself to look away. "I want to have sex. With you," she added, reddening. "Obviously."

"You're really sure?"

"Yes! Will you please stop asking me that? I'm starting to get the feeling _you_ don't want to!" Cissy wailed.

Lucius laughed, running his fingertips along the line of her jaw and winding a strand of fair hair around his finger. "Don't be so ridiculous."

Narcissa swallowed. Her mouth felt very dry, all of a sudden. "Well," she said feebly, "I suppose I can always let you make it up to me . . .."

"That, I believe I can do."

Lucius laughed again, still tangling his fingers in her hair. Then, abruptly, he pulled her towards him and kissed her. Cissy suddenly felt the sky might fall down around her ears, for all she cared. What did it matter? What did any of it matter, really? His lips were hot and insistent on her neck and the breath was starting to catch in her lungs, and there was something she needed to say, she knew, but it took her a moment to remember what it was. Her heart faltered for an instant as Lucius kissed the spot above it again, and his lips were grazing her bare stomach by the time she finally succeeded in collecting her scattered thoughts. She shivered, an odd combination of nervousness and delight, and let her eyelids drift shut, almost as though in prayer.

"L – Lucius," she said, gasping a little as her fingers tightened involuntarily upon his shoulders. "Just. . . . just so you know . . .. I . . . I . . . . I love you . .. . too."

He laughed again, more softly this time, a sound to drive her mad. So Narcissa laughed too - the blood rushing in her ears - and then she took her own advice, and stopped thinking.


	24. Human

**A / N : Thanks to Shawna, for her review, as well as to all the people who've added this to their favourites! You're all spectacular, really. :)**

**Chapter title is from the song by The Killers. (Love that song.) So here you go. Chapter twenty four (how did I get to chapter twenty four? Wow) in which Lucius continues to think (who really believed he was going to stop?) and Narcissa loses her head, repeatedly and amusingly. **

**Okay, I have to run now. Out the door. (Busy busy busy . . . ) Enjoy!**

**Oh, and let me know what you think, as always. I love to hear from you all. **

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**Human**

"Lucius! _Lucius!" _

Lucius groaned. Someone was tugging on his arm. It was a little annoying. All he wanted was to sleep. Could it really be so much to ask for?

Apparently so.

"Lucius, _wake up!" _

Oh, of course. Narcissa. Her voice was one he'd know anywhere. Normally, he was very fond of it. But at the moment it was successfully dragging him to wakefulness, and he couldn't help feeling a little resentful about it. So he kept his eyes shut and ignored her, in the hope that she might stop trying to wake him.

She didn't. She sighed, and was silent for a minute, and then she began to laugh.

Lucius groaned again. "What?"

The laughter stopped immediately. "Nothing."

"You're laughing at me," Lucius pointed out, opening one eye.

"No, I'm not," Narcissa said unconvincingly. She was sitting on the bed beside him with her legs tucked up under her, and there was an innocent expression on her face that Lucius didn't believe for a minute.

"I can tell when you're laughing at me," he muttered. "You do it often enough."

"Aw."

Lucius shut his eyes. "I'm going back to sleep," he replied, with as much dignity as he could muster.

There was silence for a beat, and then he jumped. Narcissa was sitting on top of him. "Don't you want to know why I was laughing?" she breathed in his ear.

Lucius opened his eyes and put his hands on her waist, locking her in place. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Do you really want to know?" Narcissa giggled. "You won't like it."

"Why not?" Lucius asked warily.

Narcissa kissed him on the forehead, running her fingers through his hair. "You'll be embarrassed," she warned.

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "I'm really not going to like this, am I?"

Narcissa bit her lip, shaking with silent laughter, and then she shrieked. Lucius had rolled over without warning, pinning her beneath him, and started to kiss her. "Alright, alright, I'll tell you! You talk in your sleep!" she blurted out.

Lucius froze, certain he had misheard. _"What?" _

Narcissa threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, muffling the sound of her laughter. "You _talk," _she gasped, "in your _sleep." _

"Don't be so ridiculous," Lucius said automatically.

"You do!"

"I think someone would have told me if I talked in my sleep," he said stiffly.

"Maybe you didn't listen," Narcissa suggested. "Are you _sure _no-one's mentioned it? _Ever?" _

"No, of course not . . . ." Lucius answered, bewildered. "You aren't joking, are you?" he asked after a moment.

Narcissa's only response was to laugh so hard she seemed to lose the ability to speak. Lucius frowned.

"Why? What did I say?" he asked warily.

"Don't worry," Narcissa said soothingly. "It wasn't too bad, honestly. You mostly just went on and on about punishing the house-elves, for some strange reason." She kissed him. "You were very, um . . . creative."

Lucius watched her apprehensively. "That was all?"

To his surprise, Narcissa blushed.

"What?" he demanded, bracing himself for the worst. "What else?"

"Nothing," Narcissa mumbled. "That was really it. And then you just said my name. Um, a _lot." _

"Oh." Lucius suddenly realized why Narcissa was the first person to comment on his sleep-talking. "You're right," he managed at last. "That is . . . embarrassing." He let his fingers play across her ribs, contemplating.

Narcissa giggled as he tapped his fingers, lost in thought. "Lucius, that tickles."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine." Narcissa pulled him onto the bed beside her and put her head on his chest, sighing sleepily. "I didn't expect it would be like that," she said softly.

Lucius frowned. "My sleep-talking? I didn't even know about it."

"No! Not _that. _I meant . . . sex," Narcissa said airily.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good. I think." She rolled onto her stomach, watching him. "I sort of want to do it again," she admitted, reddening. "I think I see what all the fuss is about, now."

Lucius stared at her for a moment.

Narcissa blinked, unnerved. "What? You're staring at me . . ."

He shook himself. "Nothing. I just . . . . I can't explain." He laughed. "But I think I see it too. No. What I mean is . . . I don't know. It was different." Lucius wasn't quite sure he could find the words to tell her, even if he'd wanted to. What he wanted to say was that he'd killed people – watched them die – and almost died himself. But he'd never before felt so aware of the fact that he was . . . well. Human, he supposed. Alive. His master would probably say that was a bad thing, a weakness. But it didn't feel that way. "I can't find the words," he muttered. Narcissa wrapped her arms around his torso and squeezed him. A hug, Lucius realized, rather alarmed to find he didn't mind it.

"That's alright," Narcissa said softly. "I don't think I could either."

Lucius settled for toying with her hair, to distract himself. She didn't seem to expect him to hug her back, which was a relief. "Is that why you woke me up?" he asked. "To talk?" A new thought struck him, and he smirked. "Or to do it again?"

"No!" Narcissa prodded him in the ribs, put out. "I woke you up because – oh _Merlin!" _She sat up with a jolt, her eyes wide. "Get up!" she cried, panicked.

"What?"

"Get up, get up! It's breakfast time, my mother will be wondering where I am!" Narcissa tugged on his arm, impatient. "She'll have a fit if she sees you here, you know she will. That was why I was trying to wake you up, before you went and _distracted_ me," she accused.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't consciously done," he pointed out, amused.

Whatever answer Narcissa might have given him was forgotten in an instant, as the shrill voice of a house-elf, calling for "Miss Cissy", sounded in the hall. Narcissa yelped and fell off the bed, tangled in the sheets.

Lucius laughed. "I think you ought to calm down."

Narcissa's only response to this was to seize his hand and yank the rest of the sheets, tugging him onto the floor with her.

"I think _you_ ought to get dressed," she said sweetly. "And please hurry up." She kissed him again, almost knocking him over, and then she leapt up and darted to the door. "Hurry up!" she hissed. Lucius ducked as she threw his shirt at him and disappeared, the sound of her laughter echoing in the stairwell.

By the time he made it downstairs, Narcissa was already at the breakfast table with her mother. Lucius lingered in the hall, watching her. He really ought to find some Floo powder and leave, but there was no denying the fact that watching Narcissa lie to her mother was endlessly amusing, because she was simply so awful at it. Druella had her back to him and seemed to be scrutenizing the contents of the sugar bowl.

"Please explain," she said slowly, "why your watch is in the sugar bowl, Cissy. The _sugar bowl, _of all places!"

Narcissa blushed. "Um . . . is it?"

Druella hooked the offending item onto the end of a small silver spoon and dangled it in front of her daughter's nose.

Narcissa turned an even more vivid shade of pink. "Oh. Um. Look at that," she said weakly.

Lucius watched her squirm uncomfortably in the ensuing silence and surmised her mother was staring at her, most likely in stunned disbelief. He didn't have long to ponder this, however, before something else caught his eye. His stick, lying inches away from Druella on the floor. If she looked away from her breakfast for a minute, she would see it. Narcissa dropped her gaze to the floor in embarrassment and then gave a little gasp, apparently noticing the same thing.

"Cissy!" her mother complained. "What on earth is wrong with you this morning?"

Narcissa's eyes widened as she spotted Lucius lurking in the shadows behind the door.

"Nothing!" she yelped. "Nothing at all!"

Lucius watched, amused, as she kicked the stick underneath the table and feigned a miniature coughing fit so her mother wouldn't hear the resulting clatter. She flinched as she stubbed her bare feet against the flagstones.

"I'm fine!" she insisted, her eyes watering. "Really!"

Lucius winced, biting back a laugh. This was almost painful to watch. Narcissa glowered at him and he was forced to duck hastily out of sight as Druella turned around in her seat to see what her daughter was staring at.

"Cissy! What _are _you doing? And what in Merlin's name are you wearing?" Druella hunched her shoulders. "When and _where _did you buy this . . . item?" she asked suspiciously. "That kind of thing is hardly considered suitable breakfast attire in this house, young lady."

Narcissa flushed. "You're right," she said quickly, getting to her feet and hiding the stick behind her back. "I'll go and change. Sorry, Mother. I don't know what I was thinking . . . ."

She hurried from the room, ignoring her mother's attempts to call her back, and barrelled into Lucius, pushing him into the parlour and thrusting the stick at him.

"There!" she whispered. "Take it and _go, _will you? Before you give me a heart attack!"

Lucius smirked, catching her arm and pulling her closer. "A heart attack. Really, would I do such a thing?"

Narcissa swallowed, following his gaze as he put out a finger and tapped the spot above her heart, twice, in parody of a heartbeat. She took a deep breath, half-turned to go, and then threw herself into his arms and kissed him.

Lucius laughed, unravelling the cord of her dressing gown. "You know," he murmered, "I happen to think very highly of your breakfast attire."

"Cissy! Where are you? What are you doing?"

Narcissa jumped at the sound of her mother's voice and pressed a hand guiltily to her lips.

"Go!" she giggled, flinging a fistful of Floo powder into the fireplace for him. Lucius watched the flames flare a sharp, bright green. Somehow, the silk red of Narcissa's dressing-gown seemed infinitely more appealing.

He hesitated, one foot held above the flames. "Narcissa?"

She frowned at the odd note in his voice. "What?"

It took Lucius a moment to realize that his brain hadn't quite caught up to what he wanted to say. There was _something _he ought to tell her, he knew. He just couldn't find the words.

"Thank you" would sound strange and a little insulting, surely. As if she had just conducted a business transaction with him, or donated to a cause. And that wasn't what he was looking for anyway. It was something else . . . .

Narcissa watched him for a moment, her head tilted to one side, and then she laughed, and kissed him swiftly on the cheek.

"I love you too. Now _go, _or my mother will have your head!"


	25. Love Is Noise

**A / N : Hello again everyone. Just a quick "thank you" first to Samantha for her review. (Which made perfect sense to me, by the way, and made me smile. So thank you.) **

**Okay, chapter title is from the song by The Verve, and I hope you all enjoy it. The things that happen when sweet little Cissy's claws come out . . . . . **

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**Love Is Noise **

Narcissa was leaning against a Grecian column in Avery's house, wondering why Christopher's parents thought their home required Grecian columns anyway, and trying not to be distracted by Lucius, who was standing half-hidden in the shadows behind her and doing his best to commandeer her full attention.

"Are you trying to distract me?" she whispered suspiciously.

Lucius laughed quietly, sending goosebumps down her spine. "No," he said languidly. "Of course not."

Narcissa swallowed as his fingers brushed against the nape of her neck again, pulling another carefully created curl loose.

"Those took ages to do, you know," she said feebly.

"Oh, I know," Lucius said lightly. "I was watching." He pulled another curl free, apparently aware that he was winning this particular argument. "I still think there were better ways we could have spent the time," he mused.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "I know," she murmered, allowing her eyelids to drift shut as Lucius' lips brushed against her neck.

Christopher's parents droned on and on about unity of bloodlines and bonds of trust as Lucius wound an arm around her waist. Cissy recollected herself with a jump when a sudden burst of applause broke out. Avery was standing with Priscilla in the centre of the room, wearing a rather forced smile, while Cilla looked the sort of cheerful that suggested it might be dangerous to be anything else. Their mothers – who each had a hand clamped on the shoulder of her respective offspring – were wearing startlingly similar expressions.

Narcissa sighed as she watched them smile and pose for photographs. Priscilla was getting married. Something about the whole situation seemed wrong, somehow.

"You seem a little strange," Lucius said, frowning.

Narcissa jumped. "Oh . . . do I?" She twisted a portion of her skirt nervously in her hand, silently thankful for the fact that she had changed her dress at the last minute. It would have been mortifying to attend Priscilla's engagement party in a green dress.

After all, it wasn't as if a tiny, tiny part of her was _jealous _of Priscilla . . .

Lucius distracted her again – unintentionally this time - by drawing in his breath unexpectedly and unconsciously tightening his grip on her waist. Cissy spun round. "What?" she asked curiously. "What's wrong?"

Lucius laughed uneasily. "Nothing," he murmered, frowning as he rubbed his left arm. He pulled another pin almost wistfully out of her hair, and then turned to leave. "You won't even notice I'm gone," he promised, turning the pin over in his fingers.

"Then don't go," Narcissa said pathetically, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Wasn't Priscilla's engagement party going to be torturous enough already? Now she'd have to spend hours worrying about Lucius too . . . .

He was watching her uneasily now, as though he wasn't quite sure what his expression should be. "Enjoy yourself."

"Mmm." Cissy chewed her lower lip, resisting the urge to hug him in public. She had the feeling he might object to it, so she settled for squeezing his arm worriedly instead. His lip twitched, and then he walked away, pausing by the door to tuck the hairpin into his pocket.

Narcissa sighed.

Parties. Was it her imagination, or were they getting worse and worse?

She was in the bathroom, pinning her hair back up, when Priscilla found her.

"Cissy! Oh, I _knew _you'd come! I said to Mother that you would, even if you were _dying _of jealousy, because you're just that sort of friend . . . ." She trailed off at the expression on Narcissa's face.

Narcissa stared at her. "Should we talk about-"

"So," Priscilla interrupted. "What are you doing?"

Cissy frowned. Apparently Priscilla expected her to forget about the little outburst she'd been treated to the last time they'd spoken. Either that or she'd genuinely been too drunk to remember saying it.

"I'm fixing my hair," Narcissa said uncertainly.

"One of your curls is loose," Priscilla pointed out immediately. "At the back. Did you lose the hairpin or something? It looks stupid."

"No." Narcissa toyed with the curl for a moment, contemplating. "I'm leaving it like this."

She turned to her friend, eying the ring on her finger. "I suppose you found out then."

Priscilla twisted the ring. "Yeah," she said morosely. "A baby. Yippee."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Still – you're getting married!" Narcissa said optimistically. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Are you jealous?" Priscilla asked hopefully.

Cissy stared at her for a moment, and then she nodded. "A bit," she said carefully.

Priscilla beamed. "Great! I _knew _you would be! And I needed something to cheer me up. You have no idea how boring it's been around here since my parents found out. You'd think someone had _died_ or something . . ."

Cissy forced a laugh. "Are we going to talk about what happened?" she asked cautiously.

Priscilla turned away from her, examining her reflection in the mirror. "Nothing happened," she said determinedly, puckering her lips. "Christopher loves _me_. He's getting married to _me_. We're going to be really happy together. He'll see that. Soon." She smiled brightly. "So there's nothing to talk about."

"But-"

"No! There _are _no buts! Why do you always have to make things difficult? We – are – going – to – be – _happy." _

Narcissa gave up. "Clearly," she muttered.

"Good!" Priscilla scrutenized her own reflection, pulling the fabric of her dress tight around her stomach. She sighed. "You're so skinny," she complained. "And I'm going to be so _fat. _Stupid brat. I wish I could just give it to you for the next six months until it's done."

"You won't be that huge," Narcissa said consolingly. "And anyway – wait a minute." She paused. "Seven, Priscilla."

"What?"

Cissy frowned. "Two from nine is seven," she pointed out. "_Seven_ months. Not six."

Priscilla froze. "W – why?" she stammered. "What did I say? Did I say six? I didn't mean six! I meant – I meant whatever you said. Whatever adds up." She suddenly became very interested in the contents of her make-up bag.

Narcissa stared, horrified, at her friend as a nasty realization hit her. "Oh, no . . . tell me, please, that I really wasn't that stupid," she muttered.

Priscilla reddened. "You – you didn't want him," she protested. "And I did. What's the problem? I mean . . . you must have known. You knew I became his girlfriend almost right away after you dumped him . . . I mean, you had to know!"

"I thought," Narcissa said slowly, "that you were tasteless. Not _treacherous, _Priscilla! He was my boyfriend! Whether I liked him or not doesn't matter! There are some things you're just not supposed to touch!"

"Why not?" Cilla retorted. "You weren't touching him! And why do you care? You're the one who's so happy and in love with Malfoy! And it's not _all _my fault," she added. "Avery wasn't exactly protesting, you know."

"Of course he wasn't!" Narcissa exploded. "All he thinks about is sex, even when, apparently, he was getting it all along! But how could you do that to me, Priscilla? We were friends!"

Priscilla's eyes widened. "We still are friends. Aren't we?" She clutched at Cissy's arm. "Please," she whispered. "I can't do this without you. I'm really scared!"

"You have other friends," Narcissa said coldly.

"No, I don't," Priscilla insisted. "They'll just laugh at me."

"I laugh at you too," Cissy snapped, no longer in the mood to be nice.

"I know!" Priscilla cried. "But then . . . then you come back. And try and help."

Narcissa stood up. "I need to get some air."

"Oh . . . okay. But you have to come back in time for my name to be added to the family tree. It's a really big thing, you have to be there."

Narcissa left without giving her an answer. Outside, she wrapped her arms around her waist and inhaled deeply. Sometimes it really hurt, when she was as cynical as she could possibly bring herself to be about people . . . . and still ended up feeling like a silly, naive little girl.

She swallowed, trying not to cry over such a stupid, stupid thing.

"Narcissa!"

Cissy tensed. "Avery, if I said that you're the absolute last person in the world I want to see right now, would you believe me?"

"Cissy, wait. You don't understand. I . . . I love you."

Narcissa stared at him, furious. "No, you don't! You only want me because you can't have me! That's not love, Avery!"

"Yes, it is! I can show you!" He grabbed her rather forcefully by the shoulders and kissed her.

Cissy screamed and did the only thing she could think of – she slapped Avery.

"Ow!" she cried, cradling her hand to her chest as he reeled backwards. "That hurt!"

Surprisingly, it had. Apparently there was some secret to slapping people that Narcissa didn't know about. After all, Bellatrix couldn't go a week without slapping _someone, _and she had never complained about hurting her hand while doing it. Of course, it was possible Bella was somehow immune to pain . . . . Cissy decided she'd have to ask her.

After she dealt with Avery.

"You don't love me," she said fiercely. "Normally, I'd be flattered by this . . . but you _cheated _on me, Avery! You can't cheat on someone you love, again and again! You just can't, Christopher."

"I didn't! Well, alright," he said hastily, "I _did, _but only because-"

"Avery?" Narcissa held up a hand. "Once upon a time, I would really have cared to hear whatever you're about to say. Once upon a time, I would have thought that you and Priscilla were getting your just desserts, and that this was somehow horribly amusing. But it's not. It stopped being funny when you got my friend _pregnant, _Avery!"

"Cissy, come on! You don't even like her!"

"That's got nothing to do with it! And stop calling me that!" Narcissa spat.

"What? Cissy? Why?" Avery asked, bemused.

"Because the only people who call me Cissy are the ones who don't know me at all," Narcissa said angrily. "Because it's a silly, childish name, and everyone who uses it thinks I'm a child or a doll. Which you would _know_, if you really loved me."

"What, like Malfoy does?" Avery sneered. "I don't see him here. You really think he cares so much?"

Narcissa curled her fingers into an angry fist, so that she couldn't slap Christopher again.

"You don't know anything about it," she said slowly. "Do you really want me to prove it? Alright then. How about I tell him you just kissed me? Or that you were cheating on me?"

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this angry, and she wasn't sure what had brought it on. It was probably a combination of jealousy, humiliation, and worry about Lucius. Three things which apparently produced a rather formidable result. She scowled.

"Marry Priscilla, Avery. And _leave me alone. _Or I'll tell Lucius everything, and _you_ can be the judge of how much he cares."

She stormed inside without a backwards glance, feeling strangely proud of herself. And then she giggled, wondering what Lucius would say if he could see her now.

He'd probably be too shocked to say anything at all.

Pausing in front of the mirror, Narcissa examined her red-faced, bright-eyed reflection. And then, on a whim, she reached up and pulled all the pins out of her hair, scattering them across the floor as she shook her hair out over her shoulders.

She stared at her wild, madly happy mirror-twin, and laughed.


	26. Stop Me

**A / N : Wow, chapter 26 already . . . the Author is stunned. This is looking likely to end up about forty chapters long, now that I think about it . . . . Anyway. Time for the usual notices - **

**Chapter title is from the song by Mark Ronson. **

**Thank you to my two anon reviewers as well – Beth and Sandra. It really is always appreciated . . . seriously, reviews never get old. Thanks as well to all the people who've been story alerting this, because there have actually been a _lot _of you, and I haven't thanked you until now. (I would normally just review reply, but I felt I ought to acknowledge you all and going through my inbox to find you all individually and message you does seem like a lot of hard work . . . so a mass thank-you is in order I think.)**

**Enjoy! **

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**Stop Me**

"I still can't believe they're getting married," Narcissa said petulantly, patting blusher onto her pale cheeks. "They don't even love each other," she muttered next.

"Mmm-hmm."

Cissy frowned, glancing at Lucius' reflection in the mirror. He was sitting a few feet away, already fully dressed and now deeply immersed in a tremendously boring looking book.

"You're not interested in a word I'm saying, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

Lucius laughed. "Not at all," he said airily. "Whatever gave it away?"

"You were making that noise," Narcissa informed him.

"Mmm. I see." He turned a page.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "What are you reading?" she asked curiously.

Lucius didn't bother to look up. "A book, darling," he said, a smirk playing around his lips.

Cissy scowled. "I know _that," _she retorted. "I was just wondering what it was about."

"I don't think you'd like it much," Lucius murmered distractedly.

Cissy frowned. Carefully setting aside her make-up palette, she crossed the room on tiptoes and crept up behind the unsuspecting Lucius, peering over his shoulder.

"Ugh," she said, staring transfixed at the illustration on the page, torn somewhere between horror and disgust. "Is that supposed to be a person?"

Lucius blinked. "What? Oh . . . yes. It is."

"What happened to all his, um . . . limbs? And . . ." Narcissa trailed off, not quite sure she could find the words to describe what seemed to have happened to this person. He looked as though he'd been hung, drawn and quartered . . . and then turned inside out and dipped in acid.

"I did tell you you wouldn't like it," Lucius said, amused.

Narcissa pulled a face. "That is the most disgusting book I've ever seen," she declared. "And I was friends with Snape. Where did you get it? Please don't tell me you have a whole shelf full of books like that in the library."

Lucius chuckled. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "I keep them in a separate library." He turned a page. "It's funny you should mention Snape, actually . . ."

Cissy stared. "You borrowed this from Snape?" she asked incredulously. "Since when do you and Severus lend each other _anything?" _she added suspiciously, when she had recovered from the shock.

Lucius shrugged. "He's your friend, is he not? I thought that was what people in relationships do. Get to know each other's friends."

Cissy frowned. "Last year you alternated between referring to Severus as my 'social experiment', and my 'charity case'. I didn't get the impression you _ever _wanted to get to know him."

Lucius shrugged again. "Last year," he pointed out, "I referred to _you_ as my friend."

Narcissa grudgingly conceded the point. "Do you like him?" she asked.

Lucius made a non-committal sound. "I don't like anyone," he observed. "Except you, of course." He turned another page, examining a particularly gruesome illustration with great interest. "His company is not as unbearable as I'd imagined it would be," he acquiesced at last.

Narcissa kissed him on the forehead. "Excellent!"

Lucius frowned. "It really means so much to you?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes! He's my closest friend. Not that that really means much . . ."

"What do you mean?" Lucius murmered, his attention already wandering back to the book.

Cissy rolled her eyes, crossing the room and beginning to try on shoes instead. (Lucius had mentioned, briefly, that she could leave some things at the Manor if it was easier for her. It was quite possible he regretted the offer now that fifty pairs of shoes had taken up residence in his parlour, but there was no way Cissy was allowing him to retract the offer now.)

"Nothing," she said swiftly, searching for a pair of shoes that matched the bracelet on her wrist. Lucius was buried in his book and didn't seem to hear her. "Severus is a good friend," she muttered under her breath. "At least he doesn't _lie _to me like some so-called friends. _'Cissy, I love you . . ." _she recited disgustedly. "_Let me show you . . ' _Yuck." She jumped as the book hit the floor with a thump.

"_What _did you just say?"

Cissy straightened up, blushing. "Nothing," she said quickly. "I thought you weren't listening!"

"What did you say?" Lucius repeated dangerously.

Narcissa sighed. "Really, it was nothing. It was just Avery, being stupid and saying things he didn't mean."

"Elaborate," Lucius said impatiently.

"Avery told me he loved me," Narcissa muttered. "And I told him to leave me alone, obviously, because I don't love him. It's not important."

"Oh yes it is!" Lucius said furiously. "He can't tell you things like that," he spat.

"Why not?" Narcissa frowned. "I don't love him, and he knows it. What does it matter?"

"It matters because he doesn't have the right!"

Cissy giggled. "The right?" she repeated.

"It's not funny. You're not his. He can't have you."

He had turned a rather funny colour. Narcissa had forgotten what Lucius got like when something made him genuinely angry, which wasn't so very surprising. It was, after all, a very rare occurrence.

She dropped the shoes and sighed. "It's alright," she said soothingly. "Really. I can handle Avery you know."

"You won't have to," Lucius said rigidly.

Narcissa's eyes widened, as she suddenly remembered that Avery and Priscilla were bound to be at the party she and Lucius were currently getting ready to attend.

"You can't hurt him," she said quickly. "Lucius, I mean it. Promise you won't hurt him."

She watched Lucius' fingers tense upon the arm of the chaise longue. "No."

"Lucius! You can't walk into a garden party and murder Avery in front of witnesses!" Narcissa protested. "You'll get yourself arrested!" she insisted hysterically.

"Then I shall be sure to dispose of the witnesses first," Lucius said irritably. He stood up suddenly, wearing a malicious smirk. "Come, darling, let's go."

Narcissa stared at him for a moment, horrorstruck, and then she folded her arms. "No," she said stubbornly.

"What?"

Cissy sat down heavily in Lucius' vacated seat, skirts billowing gracefully around her. It was all pleasantly dramatic, she thought, tossing her hair over her shoulder and fixing Lucius with her most unyielding glare.

"I've changed my mind," she said haughtily. "If you won't promise not to hurt Avery, I'm not going."

Lucius stared at her, his cheeks turning an ugly, blotchy red. "I thought you said you didn't love him," he said angrily.

"I don't."

"It doesn't seem so," Lucius retorted. "You seem unjustly concerned for his welfare."

Narcissa groaned. "It's not his welfare I'm concerned for!" she growled. "It's yours! Because if you walk into that party, you're going to confront him about him telling me he loves me, and then - and then -" _- and then he or Priscilla will probably tell you about the cheating too, and the fact that Christopher kissed me at his own engagement party, and you really will lose the plot – _(Narcissa tactfully decided to leave out this part of the dramatization) - "And then you'll attack him and duel and he'll die and you'll get arrested and spend the rest of your life in Azkaban!" she concluded dramatically. "And I'll die of a broken heart and we'll all be miserable until the end of our days," she added huffily.

Lucius stared.

Cissy squirmed uncomfortably. "Or something like that," she admitted.

"Having given it careful consideration," Lucius said slowly, "I still want to go."

"No!"

Desperate, Cissy picked up the nearest thing to hand, which turned out to be Lucius' stick, and held it out as a barrier between the chaise longue and the coffee table, effectively cutting off Lucius' immediate avenue of escape. He raised an eyebrow, and Cissy suddenly realized there was a much simpler way to get what she wanted.

She tilted her head to one side, considering him, and then she reached out and ran the stick slowly up his leg, smiling at him.

"You don't _really _want to go, do you?" she said softly.

"The urge to paint the Parkinson's patio with Avery's blood is reasonably strong, yes," Lucius replied firmly.

Narcissa fluttered her eyelashes. "Even if I'm not going to be there?" she pouted.

"Come with me then," Lucius ordered.

Narcissa laughed. "Are you going to make me?" she asked coyly.

Lucius groaned. "If you insist upon it." He made to pick her up, which was exactly what she had been hoping for. She gripped the fabric of his cloak firmly and pulled him down on top of her.

"Do you really want to go?" she breathed in his ear, loosening the clasp of his cloak. She kissed his neck, tugging at his dress robes. "Even though you won't see me for _hours _if you do . . . . " she whispered, feeling him tense at her touch.

"Yes," he muttered, sounding considerably less convinced than before. Narcissa smiled.

"Hours," she warned, pulling the buttons of his shirt free. "And _hours . . ." _She pressed her lips to the hollow of his neck again, letting her teeth graze the skin. Lucius groaned.

"I don't believe that's -" He groaned again as Narcissa let her fingers fall to his hips. "Remind me," he said haltingly, "at what stage . . . I ever believed 'innocent' and 'naive' . . . were appropriate adjectives for you."

Narcissa laughed. "Oh I don't know," she said teasingly, carefully wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm sure you were young, and naive, and I was-" She laughed as he kissed her, swallowing the rest of her argument. He was pulling her closer, his hands firmly attached to her hips, and he no longer seemed in any hurry to escape. So Narcissa smiled against his lips and gave in.

_After all, _she thought slyly, _there's no need to close an argument you've already won. _


	27. Shut Your Eyes

**A / N : Wow. I haven't updated in . . . a very long time (by my standards, anyway) and for that I'm sorry. Stopping the story in the middle like that was not my choice - as I'm sure almost everyone reading this knows by now, my computer crashed and I lost everything - my notes, my iTunes library, my access to typing and internet facilities . . . everything. I'm slowly building my notes back up, but as I'm having to start again from scratch, and I have more than one WIP at the moment, I'm going to ask everyone who is still reading to please be patient with regard to updates, because it'll take a bit longer than usual to get writing again. I'm not very good at completely and flawlessly reconstructing things I've already written from memory . . .. which brings me to my other point. If anyone notices any inconsistencies, typos, or moments that seem to go against something else in the story, please tell me. I'm doing my best to stop that from happening, but it's hard and I miss things, sometimes. **

**Okay. Chapter title is from the song by Snow Patrol, thank you to my anon reviewers Beth, Samantha and Cue, and . . . . I'm a little rusty in my writing, but I hope you all enjoy it. :)**

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Shut Your Eyes

She was out of breath, and her voice, when she spoke, rose up into the air like a balloon she hadn't intended to let go of.

"I wasn't completely honest."

Narcissa was staring at the canopy of the four-poster bed, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.

It bothered her, sometimes, that she couldn't see the ceiling from Lucius' bed. But sometimes it made her feel safe - as though the world beyond it didn't exist, and the man beside her couldn't give his attention to anything else. When they were alone like this, here, she felt like the centre of Lucius' little world, the way he was the centre of hers. Part of her knew it was a fantasy, knew that the black mark on his arm served as a constant reminder of the truth. But the other half didn't care, because it was so much easier, really, to just enjoy the sheer fact that she could make him come undone like this. She could turn him into someone no-one else got to see.

Cissy couldn't quite understand why she was about to risk shattering such perfection, for something as petty as the truth.

Rolling over onto her stomach, she propped her chin up on the heel of her hands, frowning. Her hair had spilled over her shoulder and Lucius was curling a strand idly between his fingers, his eyelids already drifting shut.

"Honest about what?" he murmered, sounding sleepy.

Narcissa groaned inwardly. Of course. He was _always _sleepy. She sighed, wondering if this was true of men in general or just Lucius. It wasn't as if she had anyone else to compare him to. after all.

But she had brought this up, so she might as well perservere.

"About Avery."

That got his attention alright. Lucius opened one eye, regarding her warily. "What about him?" He seemed too tired to be properly angry at the mention of Avery's name, for which Narcissa was infinitely thankful.

"He's not really the one I'm angry at," she confessed. "Well, not the one I'm _most _angry at."

Lucius shut his eyes again, still winding her hair lazily around his finger. "Then who are you angry at?"

Cissy crossed her arms, dropping her chin onto them with a groan. "Priscilla," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "I'm angry at Priscilla, and I'm nearly as angry at myself." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for this, the ugly truth. Sooner or later Lucius was bound to find out, but if she told him now she might be able to stop his pride goading him into something stupid. "Avery got her . . . . pregnant _. . . . _when he was supposed to be with me, and then they tried to _lie _to me about it," she confessed, wincing.

It sounded so petty, considering she had never loved Avery, and never really liked Priscilla. But she couldn't find the words to explain properly, to tell Lucius that somehow, this sordid little secret had reawakened every insecurity she had ever had. It made her feel stupid and childish the more she thought about it, it made her worry, somehow, for the relationship she was in now. Suddenly it hit her.

Lucius was the only person she had ever loved, and certainly the only one she had given absolutely everything to. Lying here, she was in control but at the same time . . . . completely vulnerable. She couldn't afford to be stupid, couldn't afford not to see things, or she would lose more than she could stand.

But Lucius had never been very good at calming her irrational fears, and if she couldn't even explain what she felt to herself, she knew she didn't have a hope of making him understand.

"What?"

It took her a moment to realize the word had come from Lucius, who had dropped the curl he had inadvertently created rather abruptly.

Cissy didn't need to look at him to know he had opened his eyes, but she couldn't quite bring herself to open hers.

"Avery was cheating on me," she mumbled. "He was sleeping with Priscilla. He got her pregnant when he was supposed to be with me. She told me."

Delivering the words in a dreary monotone didn't entirely rob of them of their bitter aftertaste, and she wished she could stop saying the word "pregnant". It felt like getting the attention of bad luck, somehow, given what they had just done. (Truth be told, Narcissa had no idea what she would do if she ever got pregnant. The thought was faintly terrifying. The same thought didn't ever seem to have occurred to Lucius, but she had a funny feeling he wouldn't mention it even if it had.)

She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a little sick, and opened her eyes. "Am I a fool?" she asked worriedly.

Lucius gave a contemptuous snort. "Well, I can't pretend I understand your motives for forbidding me from cursing Avery into an early grave," he scoffed. "But beyond that, no. I don't think so."

Narcissa pushed her hair over her other shoulder as Lucius reached for it again, frowning at him. "I feel like one," she muttered, fidgeting. "The worst thing is, I honestly didn't see it. And I don't know _why. _I mean, I know what they're like, both of them, and it was probably so _obvious_ and I didn't even-"

Lucius cut her off with a groan. He hated conversations like this, which was precisely why Cissy rarely initiated them. Still, this was an unusually quick interruption even by Lucius' standards. Narcissa was beginning to realize that tiring him out and then demanding his attention may have been a little foolish.

"I _am _a fool, aren't I?" she said despairingly.

Lucius sighed. "If you were a fool I wouldn't waste my time with you," he replied irritably. "I don't enjoy the company of idiots." He put out an arm again, trying to pull her closer, and this time Narcissa obliged, allowing him to reel her in. "You're not a fool," Lucius said delicately. "A little . . . naive . . . sometimes, but not a fool."

Cissy swallowed. "Naive? You just _stopped _calling me that!"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," Lucius murmered, tracing the curve of her spine with his thumb. Narcissa shivered contentedly, wondering how he could make goosebumps feel pleasant and a word he used ten times a day sound almost as reassuring as "I love you".

Lucius' lips twitched in something very like a smile, pleased that she had calmed down. "How long do you intend on depriving me of sleep for?" he yawned.

Narcissa smirked, suddenly feeling a lot happier. She hugged Lucius, simply because she never failed to be amused by his discomfort when she did so, and then kissed his bare chest. "How long can you stay awake for?" she asked wickedly, giggling uncontrollably as he responded to this by tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her underneath him, kissing her. Narcissa felt heat flare up at every point his lips touched, until each goosebump on her body seemed to have been smoothed out again and she was both delightfully warm and thoroughly enjoying herself once more. She wriggled a little, arching her back as Lucius' lips reached the delicate skin above her hip bone. But her enjoyment was cut short as his arm suddenly twitched - a funny little spasm she had come to know as well as the sharp intake of breath that accompanied it. The Mark was burning.

He froze, and Cissy scowled. "No!" she said furiously, uselessly. "Not _again . . . _Lucius, please . . . . "

But Lucius was already on his feet, hunting for his robes. The difference in him was startling. She could actually see his muscles tensing and his expression changing, becoming blank and cold and . . . .

"I don't have a choice," he muttered, avoiding her eye. Shutting her out.

"I want you to stay," Cissy said petulantly. Something sharp had sunk its claws into her heart at the sight of him, something brutal and senseless. She didn't care that she sounded irrational and unfair. "I want you to stay and be with me . . ."

Lucius cleared his throat uncomfortably and half-reached for her, then appeared to change his mind.

"I'll be back," he assured her.

"And I'm just supposed to wait?" Cissy asked incredulously. "For how long?"

When she received no answer she scowled at him and threw herself back onto the bed with such force the mattress bounced beneath her. Lucius merely shrugged, so she turned her back on him, stiffening her shoulders, and buried her face in the pillow. He touched her hair briefly but said nothing, and Narcissa did not look up until she heard the door click behind him. Then she sat up abruptly and threw the nearest pillow across the room with a subdued sort of scream.

Twenty minutes of silent sulking filled some time, but eventually she realized she was going to have to get up. Unable to find her dress (she had a sneaking suspiscion it was somewhere downstairs, and was both too lazy to get it herself and too embarrassed to summon a house-elf), she settled instead for wearing one of Lucius' shirts, careful to pick one of his favourites and determined to crease it as much as possible before he returned.

Narcissa quickly realized that finding something to do in Malfoy Manor _without a Malfoy _was more difficult than she'd expected. The sort of books Lucius liked to read were all either extremely boring or extremely frightening, and there were only so many times she could inspect the family silver before it lost its appeal. The portraits watched her in a way that told her all too plainly they disapproved of such an overwrought house-guest, and the corridors were draughty and unwelcoming, flagstones icy beneath her bare feet. She took a long bath in the end, out of sheer desperation, but after an hour her skin had puckered up like a raisin and she was forced to abandon the tub and take a tour of the house, trying to ignore the sniffy looks her attire provoked from the portraits. Brutus Malfoy seemed particularly offended by it, but closer inspection of his portrait revealed he had died in the seventeenth century, so his prudishness was perhaps understandable. Cissy wasn't sure what Malfoy women had worn to relax with their lovers in the seventeenth century, but if their outfits were anything like as puffy and pompous as those of the Malfoy men, she doubted they had ever been even remotely comfortable.

It was getting colder, she realized slowly, as she wandered aimlessly into another wing of the house. And she was leaving footprints where she walked, cutting a trail through a Dead Sea of dust. She opened a door, curious to find out exactly where she was, and paused, caught off guard. She had been expecting another room full of polished wood and family portraits, but had been confronted instead with . . . . . pink. She was surrounded by pale pink – it coloured everything from cushions to curtains in here. Cissy blinked, and then stepped carefully inside and began to explore. She had a feeling she knew exactly who had once owned this room, but it wasn't until she reached the dressing table that she found what she was looking for.

Lucius had never really told her much about his mother. She had died when he was five years old and he did not remember her, or so he always said. He had once admitted that his earliest childhood memory was his mother's funeral, but Narcissa had never been able to prise any more information from him than this. He had certainly never told her his mother was so _young. _

Beautiful, of course, (Narcissa firmly believed ugly people could not have produced Lucius, no matter what drink-sodden state Abraxas had allowed himself to get into before his death) but still . . . . . . she didn't look old enough to be anyone's mother. Yet here she was, smiling nervously in a photograph, clutching what could only be the baby Lucius. She didn't seem to know how to hold him properly. Narcissa watched her shift her hold on him, again and again, as he kicked and wriggled in her arms. She looked worried, her gaze flickering from the baby to the camera and back again. Cissy didn't blame her. The girl couldn't be much older than she was now. The thought of being solely responsible for something as mystifying as a baby, in a house as cold as this one, was nothing short of petrifying.

It took her a moment to realize that the girl in the picture reflected more than just her own apprehensive expression. It wasn't just that she too was pretty and shy and seventeen, playing at being an adult. Narcissa had quite literally _become _her. Here she was, alone in an empty house, full of fears she didn't really know how to explain . . . . the only one who would even try to keep Lucius safe from himself.

She threw the picture away from her with a gasp, feeling as though someone had just emptied a bucket of cold water over her head. And then she ran, hardly knowing why she did so. Out of the room and down the stairs, her feet carrying her away so fast she slipped on the final few steps, catching the banister just in time and falling to her knees at the bottom of the staircase. Dazed and confused, she couldn't seem to return to herself even enough just to _cry . . . . _Instead she sat, immobile, at the foot of the stairs, staring into space.

"Narcissa. _Narcissa_."

She jumped.

Lucius was kneeling in front of her, tugging gently on her elbow.

How long had she been sitting here? Narcissa hugged herself, slowly waking up. Half the front hall was now in shadow. She cast her gaze over Lucius' shoulder, at the house elf scurrying about lighting lamps to fight the gloom. There was a thick, sticky layer of blood at the elf's temple, and it squeaked in fright and fell over as she made eye contact with it. She could only suppose Lucius had hit it with his stick, though whether this was because it had attempted to rouse her or because it had dragged Lucius to her side, she didn't know. No doubt the thing now considered her completely insane.

Cissy pulled her attention back to Lucius with a considerable amount of effort, forcing herself to smile. She stopped fairly quickly, distracted first by the fact that Lucius had put his cloak around her shoulders (thankfully, there were no bloodstains on it today) and then by him sitting down beside her, so that they were huddled together on the bottom step, like children.

She opened her mouth. "I'm fine," she wanted to say. Or possibly, "I'm sorry."

"I love you," she whispered instead.

There was silence for a moment, as she stared at the floor, and then Lucius reached out without warning and smacked the house elf with his stick. Narcissa jumped again, and the tiny creature let out a short sharp scream and fell to the floor. It staggered to its feet immediately after that and fled.

There was a long pause, and then Lucius cleared his throat.

"You were saying?"

Cissy blinked. "I . . . . I was saying . . . " She sighed, burying her head in her hands. "It doesn't matter."

There was another silence. Lucius turned his stick over in his hands. "You really ought to let me duel Avery," he said at last. "Brief as it would be, I'm certain it would cheer you up immensely."

Narcissa pursed her lips. "You getting arrested would _not _cheer me up, Lucius." She sighed, then gathered up the hem of Lucius' cloak and used it to wipe the blood from the tip of his walking stick. "But thank you, all the same."

Lucius folded his fingers around hers as she passed the stick back to him, preventing her from pulling away completely. "The offer still stands," he said awkwardly. "If you, ah . . . . change your mind . . . ."

"I won't. But I'll think of something. They're not getting away with humiliating me like that," Narcissa said tightly, suppressing a shiver. She was starting to feel truly cold, and to wish Lucius would put an arm around her instead of just holding her hand. But he didn't seem inclined to and it would completely detract from the point if she had to _ask. _

Lucius interrupted this rather depressing thought with an unexpected question. "What is _that?"_

Following his gaze, Narcissa glanced down at her bare feet. "Dust," she said at last, as she realized what he was talking about.

"I see."

Cissy rolled her eyes. She knew that tone all too well – it was Lucius' 'A-House-Elf-Is-About-To-Be-Flogged' tone.

"Where did you find this dust?" he began, tapping his stick thoughtfully against the floor. "And how much, would you say-"

Cissy cut him off, holding a hand up to his lips. "Lucius? Just so you know . . . . my mother is expecting me to come home tonight, and I'm not in a very good mood as it is. If you spend the next hour discussing the shortcomings of the house-elves, I may scream."

Lucius frowned at her. "I don't think you quite appreciate the-"

Narcissa poked him in the ribs. "Scream, Lucius," she threatened, letting her head fall onto his chest. "I will _scream," _she murmered.

She felt rather than heard him sigh - the sound humming against her ear - and his voice echoed in his chest when he next spoke, so that his words sounded as though they were reverberating in an empty cave.

"Well I don't see what else we can talk about."

Cissy let her eyelids drift shut again. He had a point, tonight. She couldn't think of a single safe topic of conversation. "We don't have to talk. We can just stay like this, for a little while."

Lucius shifted position, his shiny shoes squeaking against the steps. "I'm not very comfortable," he pointed out doubtfully.

Cissy poked him again, a little more gently this time. "I don't care," she said sleepily. "I don't care . . ."

Lucius tugged the cloak over her shoulder to cover her more completely and said something else, but what it might have been, she never found out. She was asleep before she could even begin to think about it, before she had to think about how she was going to get home, or what Lucius might have been doing, or if trying to close her eyes and blot out all the things she couldn't comprehend made her really, honestly . . . a fool.


	28. We Can Work It Out

**A / N : Argh. To quote Remus Lupin - "I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill." And to decide I'd recovered, in my case . . . . but I'm okay now. Honestly. To anyone reading my other fics – updates are coming, I promise. I just have to find the time and energy to write them . . . . **

**Okay – chapter 28! In which Cissy is a bitch, cream cakes cause consternation, and Lucius thorougly enjoys himself. Chapter title is from the song by the Beatles, review if you like, and seeing as my editing-when-ill is just as unreliable as my editing-when-tired . . . . tell me if you spot any mistakes, please. Enjoy! **

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**We Can Work It Out **

"I can't believe you're just going to forgive us."

Narcissa frowned. "I haven't forgiven you, Priscilla," she said coldly. "I'm _forgiving _you. There is a difference."

Priscilla's forehead creased as she attempted to make sense of this without asking the obvious. It didn't take her long to abandon the endeavour. "But . . . why?"

Narcissa picked out an éclair from the tray on the table and raised it to eye level, examining it carefully before putting it down and looking her one-time friend in the eye. The moral high ground, she decided, was a nice place to be. She really shouldn't hold her chin up so high, but it was nice to feel in _control _for once.

"It seemed like the right thing to do," she said, with as much politeness as she could muster when talking to Priscilla. She pushed the cakestand away from her and reached instead for the teapot. "After all, you did ask me to be godmother to your baby."

"We did?" Priscilla blinked at her, stunned.

Narcissa smiled. "Oh yes," she said sweetly, narrowing her eyes a little. "The baby needs a godmother. _Someone _has to teach the poor thing how to be a decent human being, after all." She smiled a little more brightly. There was something incredibly enjoyable about watching Priscilla squirm, and the look on Avery's face was just priceless. His mouth was hanging open, horror claiming his neutral expression as the truth of what she was saying sank in.

"You're – you're going to carry on talking to us," he said hoarsely. "You're going to visit and pretend and act . .. . and act like nothing happened." He swallowed hard. He now looked as though he were about to cry, which was interesting and sad and quite pathetic all at the same time.

Narcissa positively beamed at him. _Yes. _"Nothing did happen, Christopher," she said loftily. "I can't _think_ what you're talking about."

Avery ignored Priscilla's frantic attempts to shut him up and charged on, words spilling from his mouth as though he could no longer control them. "But I cheated on you," he said desperately. "You're supposed to hate me! You're _supposed_ to never speak to us again. You said – You don't understa – I lov- I – You can't do this to me! You can't torture me like this - it's not fair!"

He fell silent as his new fiancée began to glare at him but really, he didn't need to talk. He had said more than enough already, in Cissy's opinion.

Narcissa could hardly contain her smile. Now _this _was almost worth the humiliation she'd suffered. For every day she'd spent in ignorance, for every occasion on which they'd surely laughed at her . . . she had this, this single sweet, shining moment. Composing herself with difficulty, she smiled first at Priscilla, in silent acknowledgement of what Avery had just said and the victory it awarded her, and then at Avery himself. If Christopher had decided he was in love with her, she might as well respect his feelings and make him miserable.

"Oh, don't be silly," she said calmly, stirring her tea. "I'm not angry. That wouldn't really be fair, would it? After all, you two are getting _married_, and," - she laughed - "it's not as if I ever loved you, Christopher. All in all," she concluded, "I'd say things couldn't have worked out better. Everyone gets exactly what they want and no-one gets hurt."

Avery now looked as though he'd been silently Immobilized. He sat locked in place, apparently unable to even brush away Priscilla's hand as it clutched insistantly at his, trying to shake him out of it. He simply stared intently at Narcissa, as though he were a waxwork doll at her disposal and she were holding him just above the flames, about to melt him down. _So this is how it feels, _she thought, _to tell someone their love is worthless. This is how it feels to twist the knife and break a heart. _

Part of her wanted to slap him again, to make him hurt even _more, _and this part didn't care if she was being cruel, because it was simply sick of being _good_. Was this how it felt to be Bella, or Lucius? It was the first time Narcissa had ever had power over anyone but herself, and it was faintly intoxicating. Deciding that she had caused Avery enough pain for one day, she reached for the sugar instead, frowning at the primrose-patterned bowl. Avery she might be finished with, but she would never, ever be finished with Priscilla.

"Oh dear. You're out of sugar." Setting the bowl back on the table, she clicked her tongue, the way her mother usually did when a house-elf forgot to set only two places for supper. "But don't worry," she assured Priscilla, in her most insincere tone. "I'm sure you have plenty of time to learn how to be a good wife . . ." - she took a sip of tea - ". . . and mother . . ." - she grimaced - ". . . and hostess. . . . before the baby comes."

Cissy took another small sip of tea and then put her cup down again, balancing it neatly on her saucer. She smiled, still feeling pleased with herself, and was just about to slip another comment about Priscilla's lack of wifely attributes into the conversation when a hand settled upon her shoulder, startling her.

"Lucius!"

Lucius chuckled, apparently amused by the fact that he could make her jump. He pushed Priscilla to one side with a smirk (ignoring the girl's indignant squeak) and sat down beside Narcissa, catching her hand and kissing it when she attempted to push him away.

"Darling."

Narcissa frowned. Lucius was so rarely affectionate in public, there was something frankly suspicious about it when he was. "We aren't having dinner until eight," she responded, ignoring both the "darling" and the kiss, and cutting straight to the point. _"You're an hour early!" _

Lucius blinked, in a very bad impersonation of innocence. "Am I?"

Cissy glared at him, hoping to somehow communicate the words "what are you doing?" and "you don't fool me" without speaking them aloud. "You know you are," she muttered, furious.

Lucius pretended not to notice. Irritated, Cissy leant in and hissed in his ear, under the pretence of kissing him on the cheek. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

Lucius simply smirked at her. "It doesn't make much sense to leave now," he said languidly, "and I don't want to drag you away from your, ah, friends. So I suppose I'll just have to wait." He settled back against the sofa, still smirking broadly, and attempted to put an arm around Narcissa, tracing a calm line from her ribs to her waist and back again. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer me to leave . . . ?"

Cissy scowled. His touch was ridiculously distracting and she had a funny feeling it wasn't entirely appropriate. "Of course I don't want you to . . . Don't be . . ." Eventually she sighed, at a loss, and pushed a cup of tea into his hands, prising his arm from her waist in a temper. "Oh, just have a biscuit and behave," she managed at last, horribly aware that Priscilla was watching her and not at all keen on embarrassing herself in front of someone she herself was trying to humiliate.

Avery looked as though Lucius' sudden appearance had given him a bad case of lockjaw, but Priscilla seemed to have recovered fast. In fact, she looked worryingly pleased.

"Actually, they're cakes," she supplied helpfully, wafting the tray under Lucius' nose. "Not _biscuits, _Narcissa!" She flashed Lucius the sort of determined, eyes-aflutter smile that made Cissy want to ram a cake down her throat. "Would you like one?"

Narcissa scowled. She knew exactly what Priscilla was doing, and she didn't like it at all. Something she liked even less was the fact that Lucius had just gallantly accepted a cake, though Cissy had elbowed him sharply in the ribs – a clear indication he ought to refuse. She was forced to watch in dawning horror as Priscilla pouted quite indecently over her cream cake, and Lucius nodded along with her, pretending (for reasons Cissy found impossible to fathom) that he found her in some way interesting.

"I can't believe I'm getting so fat," Priscilla complained, as a stray blob of cream plopped out of her éclair. "Oops." She caught it on the tip of her finger and scooped it into her mouth, contemplating. "But I suppose I have to nourish the baby," she said seriously, rubbing her stomach thoughtfully and adopting a martyred pose reminiscent of the Virgin Mary.

Narcissa smothered a smirk and turned to Lucius, expecting that a comment this idiotic would surely have forced him into surrender. But he simply nodded, raising his teacup in a cynical sort of toast. "Of course," he said suavely, to Narcissa's shock.

Well that did it.

"There isn't any goodness in cream cakes, Priscilla," she snapped, stepping sharply on Lucius' foot and smiling at his resulting groan. "Maybe you'd put on less weight if you just _ate _less - did you ever think of that?"

Priscilla paused, frowning at her. Then she smiled. "No," she said slowly. "_I _wouldn't think of that."

Cissy was on her feet before she even realized she was angry, her heart beating uncomfortably quickly and her face burning as the room spun about her head. The awkward silence emanating even from Avery suggested that Priscilla's point had been very clear. Christopher had turned red and was now staring at his lap, while Lucius seemed disorientated by how quickly the topic of Narcissa's little problem had reared its ugly head. He didn't seem to know quite what to do, and reached forward as if on impulse to drain the contents of his cup, pulling a face as he realized it was only tea and nothing stronger. He cast Priscilla a rather ugly look.

"We're leaving," Cissy snapped at him. _"Now."_

Her voice was shaking. Part of her knew it wasn't logical to fly off the handle like this at the smallest provocation, but logic had nothing to do with it. Logic and food hadn't had very much to do with each other in Cissy's mind for a long time, if she was brutally honest.

Priscilla's eyes widened. "Oh don't be like that!" she complained, seizing Narcissa's hand and pulling her back onto the sofa. "I didn't mean to suggest that you don't – I mean that you have a problem with - It was only a _joke!"_ When Cissy showed no sign of accepting this explanation, Priscilla squeezed her hand, rolling her eyes. "I only got so offended because you're wrong," she said brightly. "There is goodness in cream! Avery – I mean, Christopher – says cream is full of, um, Vitamin F!"

Narcissa momentarily forgot her own anger as the ludricrousness of this statement sank in. "You mean _fat," _she said carefully. Behind her Lucius made a small sound that seemed to suggest he had just choked on his tea.

Avery buried his head in his hands. Priscilla blinked, bemused. "What?"

Narcissa folded her arms. "I'm almost sure," she said stiffly, "that there's no such thing as-"

She never got to finish this statement, because Lucius stood up swiftly and pulled her to her feet. "Excuse us," he ordered Avery and Priscilla, as he pulled her out of the room and into the parlour, where he released her.

Furious, Narcissa immediately folded her arms again and turned her back on him, determined not to be the one to break the silence first. This plan promptly fell apart as the silence spiralled uncomfortably and the heat began to rise in her cheeks once more. Before she had quite decided to do it, she had turned around and begun to glower at Lucius. "Aren't you going to say _anything?" _she demanded.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You want me to say something?"

"It would be nice, yes."

There was an infuriating silence, as Lucius cast his gaze laconically about the room. "Well, I don't think much of the décor."

Narcissa stared. "Try again," she managed at last. "Try 'I'm sorry for trying to humiliate you.' Or maybe 'There's a very, _very _good reason I'm flirting with your mortal enemy, and I'm about to explain, and then apologize profusely. And buy you something expensive.'" She paused. _"Well?" _

Lucius chuckled. "You're taking tea with her. I would hardly call her your mortal enemy, darling."

"Don't 'darling' me," Cissy retorted. She took a deep breath. "I'm only talking to Priscilla," she said primly, "so I can humiliate her in the role of hostess. And as for Avery-" She shut up quickly, biting her lip and staring into the fireplace so she didn't have to look at Lucius' expression.

"What about him?" he asked sharply.

Cissy sighed, watching the flames flicker in the grate. She was starting to wish she could just jump into them and disappear.

"I think I just broke his heart," she grimaced. "And then promised to spend the rest of his life rubbing salt in the wounds."

Lucius gave a derisive snort. "You make that sound unappetizing somehow."

Cissy frowned. "It's not funny, Lucius. I feel heartless. I actually _enjoyed _trampling all over his feelings. Doesn't that worry you, even just a little?"

Lucius yawned, polishing the top of his stick. "Not in the slightest." He glanced up at her, smirking. "I am, however, proud of your ingenuity. I had no idea you were so devious." He caught her by the wrist and pulled her closer, ignoring her haughty attempts to wriggle out of his grasp. "I can't say I dislike it . . ."

Narcissa shut her eyes, trying not to melt onto the floor as his lips brushed against her throat. "You still haven't explained what you're doing here," she murmured. "And why you were flirting with Priscilla . . ."

Lucius laughed. "I was not flirting with your -" - he hesitated, touching a finger to her lips - "_mortal enemy," _he chided. Then he laughed, tightening his hold on her as Cissy made another furious attempt to extricate herself from his arms. "I was allowing her to flirt with me," he continued smugly. "Which is another thing entirely."

And before Cissy could utter a word of protest, his lips were on hers and he was kissing her passionately, hungrily . . . his stick fell to the floor and he did not so much as attempt to pick it up. Narcissa gasped as he picked _her _up instead, setting her down on the table as he remembered he carried the stick for a reason – namely, that he was somewhat off-balance without it. Not that that put him off for long. In fact, it only seemed to encourage him – the breath Cissy had drawn to tease him with turned into a gasp as he began to pull the buttons at the back of her dress free one by one. Narcissa had a feeling he was simply ripping more than half of them, and so, in a fit of annoyance, she kissed him back, harder than before, and pulled his tie off in one swift movement, ripping three of his shirt buttons in the process. Lucius made a small sound of disapproval and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the table, the varnished mahogony cool against her skin and Lucius' lips hot against her collarbone.

"You can't be serious," she murmered. "Lucius! You have to be joking!"

She felt him smirk against her skin. "I'm not sure I ever quite got the hang of joking."

Narcissa scowled. "We are not doing this here," she said, in a futile attempt to regain control of the situation. "You do know that, don't you? We are _not _having sex in Avery's house - it's just wrong! Lucius!"

"Mmm-hmm." He didn't seem to be paying much attention.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "If you agree then why is your hand on my -"

She was interrupted at that moment by a shrill sounding laugh. Cissy jumped and looked up to see both Avery and Priscilla standing in the doorway. Avery looked as though he'd just had a small stroke, but Priscilla seemed torn between petty jealousy and delight.

Lucius merely raised an eyebrow and made a very bad attempt to hide a smirk.

"Our apologies," he said smoothly, extending a hand and helping Narcissa off the table, as though this belated display of chivalry would somehow make amends for the undignified position their hosts had found them in. He waved his wand once, briefly, over Narcissa's back, and she felt the buttons of her dress knit together so suddenly they left her a little breathless. Another wave of his wand sent his stick flying back into his hand. He smiled at Avery (an expression possessed of not an ounce of positive emotion) and put an arm around Narcissa's waist, steering her towards the door. "Delightful as this has been, we have dinner reservations. Good evening."

Cissy allowed him to lead her outside in a state of shock. It wasn't until the cool air hit her in the face that she recovered enough to pull away from him, incensed. "You – you did that deliberately, didn't you?!"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"First you let Priscilla flirt with you," Narcissa accused, "then you _humilate _me just so you can get one over on Avery!" At this point in time, she wasn't sure which offense was worse.

Lucius smirked. "So I allowed your friend – who is, while we're on the subject, possessed of the sort of stupidity that puts her on a par with Crabbe and Goyle – to make a fool of herself. I don't see the harm. Aren't you planning to outmother the girl at every opportunity?"

Narcissa felt herself redden. "That's not what I-"

Lucius cleared his throat, entertained. "No?"

Cissy scowled. "Stop it."

"I know you well enough to know when you're being sly," Lucius pointed out.

Narcissa felt her face fall into a familiar pout, and slapped him on the arm. "Well now you're just being a . . . a . . . a _man," _she declared at last, at a loss. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?" she continued petulantly. "It's not about me at all. It's just one big game of boys and their toys, and I'm the toy!"

Lucius gave a snort of laughter he hastily turned into a cough. "Excuse me?"

Narcissa folded her arms and glared at him. "You heard. It's all a big game of 'anything you can do I can do better', isn't it?"

Lucius stared at her for a moment, his lips moving soundlessly, and then he allowed himself to laugh properly. He took a step closer to her, smiling. "Don't be ridiculous," he said softly, letting his fingers trace her cheek and then the line of her jaw. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, and tapped his fingers, lost in thought. Pulling her up onto her toes and smiling at her frustrated sigh, he paused with his lips just inches from hers.

"Anything he can do," he murmured, "I _can _do better."


	29. I Belong To You

**A / N : I'm not finding a lot of time to write at the moment . . . . but for some reason I always make a little space for this. I have no idea why. Maybe I'm a little less neurotic about it than I am about my other fics, or maybe I'm just lazy . . . Either way, for people reading my other fics - I will do my best to update something else soon, I promise. In the meantime, please enjoy more needless fluff-torture, the apparent result of cynicism and romanticism combined. ;)**

**Chapter title is from the song by Muse, whom I adore. (How can you not love The Resistance?) Reviews are always fun. Alright then - chapter 29, in which Lucius recieves a reminder that flowers die without water, and learns that things left unsaid have a way of making themselves known anyway. Enjoy! **

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**I Belong To You**

The flowers on his bedside table were beginning to die.

Lucius wasn't sure what disturbed him more, the fact that there were flowers on his bedside table at all, or the fact that they had been there long enough to begin dying, and he hadn't noticed them.

He grimaced. Narcissa had recently embarked on a mission to turn his house into less of a mausoleum and more of a home - something which, apparently, could be achieved by introducing petals and pastels into almost every room. Lucius wasn't quite sure he saw the point in this, though he knew better than to say so. Proud as he was of the manor, he had never really thought of it as anyone's home, not even his own. The word "home" had Weasley-ish connotations somehow. But Narcissa seemed to be enjoying herself, and if feigning an interest in paint palettes and sample swatches would keep her happy, he was willing to indulge her. (Besides, she had good taste. There were worse fates he could leave the Manor to.)

Lucius pushed the flowers to one side and picked up the clock, frowning. It was half past one and Narcissa was lying on his bed, fully dressed and fast asleep.

He knew he ought to go and clean up. Narcissa found bloodstains both frightening and indecent, and it would only lead to awkward questions if she saw them.

But for the love of Merlin . . . . she was still wearing her _shoes_.

Sighing, Lucius put the clock and his mask on the bedside table and leant across to pull her shoes off. He laughed quietly, running a hand over the smooth skin of her leg. It was a shame, really, that it was so late.

He had reached her thigh when Narcissa's fingers suddenly closed around his wrist.

"You're late," she mumbled.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You're still here," he pointed out.

Narcissa opened her eyes, troubled. "That's not the point. You said you'd be back in an hour, Lucius. This isn't an hour. It's . . ." She frowned, her lips moving silently.

"A long time," Lucius suggested tactfully.

Narcissa poked him in the ribs, smirking as he fell onto the bed beside her. "Yes," she said sharply. "That."

"The flowers are dying, you know." Lucius rolled over and picked one out for her, to illustrate his point. He ran the head of it along her arm and over her shoulder, smiling as he stroked the petals across the curve of her breast and she began to laugh. "Perhaps I should have watered them more often," he reflected.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Or ever," she accused. "You don't care for my flowers at all, do you?"

She was watching him with a wide-eyed, faux-wounded expression that really shouldn't have made him want to kiss her as much as it did.

Lucius tickled her neck, clicking his tongue in annoyance as the flower began to fall apart, petals scattering across the pillow.

"I don't believe I ever said that. As a matter of fact, I think I'm beginning to understand your flower fetish."

Narcissa blushed. "It's not a _fetish," _she protested.

"No?"

"No! _Honestly_. Next you'll tell me I have a paint fetish too."

She picked up the pamphlet full of paint samples and flicked the pages under Lucius' nose. The sharp snap as she closed it again really shouldn't have been so seductive . . . . .

Unable to resist, Lucius tugged the parchment out of her grasp and turned the pages himself, smirking.

"Just to clarify . . . . you sleep with this?"

"No! Well, I mean . . . yes," Narcissa stammered. "But only by accident. I got bored and I started thinking we should paint this room," she explained. "But then I couldn't decide on the colour . . ."

"Hmm." Lucius pushed her hair out of her eyes for her, watching her bite her lip as she pored over the parchment. There was something curiously pleasant about the image. "I'm sure a new colour wouldn't hurt," he said lazily, "but I sincerely hope you aren't leaning towards pastels again, darling."

Narcissa giggled. "I take offence to that."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yes. I think you ought to apologize." Narcissa rolled the parchment up and rapped him on the forehead with it, laughing as he kissed her. She shifted position, sitting up and locking her knees about his hips in a pose she seemed to have devised specifically to drive him to the brink of his sanity. "Pastel," she breathed, "is not a colour for the bedroom."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "And what would you suggest?" he laughed. "Yellow?" He entwined his fingers in Narcissa's hair, pulling her closer. "Ah. Pink," he offered, as she touched her lips to his, a butterfly kiss. "Blue?" he murmured, kissing her eyelids as she shivered.

"I was thinking green," she whispered, balling her fists in the fabric of his shirt as Lucius began to peel her dress slowly away from her skin. (Had he been less preoccupied, he might have considered the fact that they were unintentionally wearing the same colour a little . . . . odd. As it was he disregarded it, distracted instead by layers of lace overlay and silk petticoats.)

"That doesn't seem quite right," he mused. "I think we're much more suited to . . ."

Narcissa interrupted him with an odd, shivering sort of gasp - one he was almost sure had nothing to do with the current position of his hands. She drew back abruptly, and the temperature dropped a few degrees.

"Red," she said quietly.

And there it was, splayed across her fingertips like a scarlet flag, incriminating.

Lucius frowned. "It's nothing," he muttered, taking her hand and wiping it clean.

But Narcissa didn't seem inclined to believe him. She stared at her clean white palm for a minute, and then she pulled away from him.

"What did you do?" she asked hoarsely.

Lucius examined the bloody mark soaked into his shirt, like a heart crushed against his sleeve.

"Exactly what your sister wanted," he responded coolly. "Or possibly, precisely the opposite. Does it really matter?"

Narcissa flinched when he reached for her, curling her arms around her waist as though fighting a sudden urge to be sick. "You hurt someone."

Lucius let his arm fall limply to his side. This, he realized, was the problem with his relationship with Narcissa. On the one hand, she was probably the only person he felt genuine affection for, and certainly the only one who could summon certain emotions. The downside to this, however, was that she seemed to have more feelings than she knew what to do with. Time spent in her company was something of an emotional minefield, in which every response Lucius could devise felt like the wrong one, somehow.

"I hurt some_thing_," he corrected.

Narcissa gave a twisted laugh. "Oh. Of course. Some_thing, _and that's different."

"It is different," Lucius said calmly, and she looked up sharply.

"Why?" she demanded.

Lucius felt himself tense. "Do we have to do this now?"

Narcissa stiffened. "I'm just trying to understand," she shot back. "I'm sleeping with a man who likes to hurt people. Don't you think it's common sense to ask about it every once in a while?"

Lucius stared at her. "If you're suggesting you honestly think me capable of harming you, then I can't imagine what you're still doing here."

Narcissa swallowed. She suddenly looked more likely to be sick than ever. "I never said that," she murmured, and then to his surprise she lay down beside him, apparently defeated. "I would never say that."

She burrowed into his chest and Lucius realized she wanted reassurance. She wanted him to make it go away, but he had no idea how to do that. The truth? A lie?

"She looked like you."

Narcissa froze. "Wh – what?"

The truth, Lucius suddenly realized, might not have been the best idea.

"Your sister's idea of a joke, I assume," he explained, wondering if his attempt to laugh off the event sounded as artificial as it felt. "Then again, it may have been someone else's idea of a test . . . . " He paused, considering. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

As unexpectedly as Narcissa had fallen into his arms, she pulled away again. "And – and did you? Did you do it?"

Lucius frowned. "Of course. I don't want people to think I'm somehow weakened by you."

Narcissa covered her face with her hands, hiding her expression from him. "Why not?" she mumbled. She sounded as though she had a lump in her throat.

Lucius watched her stomach twist and her shoulders twitch, and realized, to his horror, that she was trying not to cry.

"Because quite frankly it's dangerous for both . . ." He trailed off, uncertain. "You're upset."

Narcissa wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I'm not. Really."

"Then you're angry."

"No."

She turned over, curling into a ball. Lucius watched her for a long minute, and then he reached out and touched her shoulderblade. She didn't turn around, but didn't object either. He sighed, wondering if this was a good thing. Sometimes he couldn't help but miss his previous relationships. Life had been much easier when he simply hadn't cared.

Unfortunately, it had also been much emptier.

Toying with her hair, he frowned. This was another problem - he had become so used to Narcissa that he seemed to forget she had not always belonged to him.

Lucius shook his head to vanquish this disconcerting thought, then kissed the top of her head, in an awkward attempt to make amends for his mistake without articulating an apology.

Narcissa tensed, and then, unexpectedly, met his gaze. "That was a no that meant yes, Lucius," she said tightly.

"I don't understand."

Narcissa closed her eyes. "You never do."

Lucius scowled. "Then enlighten me," he said irritably.

Narcissa groaned. "Now _you're_ angry," she mumbled, burying her face in the pillow.

"Then tell me what it is I don't understand," Lucius snapped, pulling impatiently at the collar of his shirt. Narcissa had a point, he decided. There really was far too much starch in it.

Without opening her eyes, Narcissa reached up and prised his hand away.

"It's like Bella," she murmured at last. "She always, _always _shuts me out, but she can't understand it when I do the same to her. I don't want you to be like her, Lucius." She shivered. "You're cold enough as it is."

There was a long pause.

"I see," Lucius said stiffly.

Narcissa's eyes sprang open immediately. "I didn't mean it like that," she said awkwardly. "You know I didn't mean it like that. It's just that it's . . . . hard for me, sometimes."

When Lucius gave her no response she seemed to panic, sitting up abruptly and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "I'm not saying it's not worth it, I just . .. . I love you. You know I love you."

When this received no response either she frowned, kissing his hand and tugging gently on his fingers. "Lucius." She paused. "Hello?"

Lucius shook himself. "I . . . what?"

Narcissa stared. "You . . . you seemed a bit . . . um. . . distant," she said worriedly.

Lucius watched her panic for perhaps a minute longer than he should have done. Then he laughed. After all, he had absolutely no idea what to say to her.

Narcissa, meanwhile, seemed to have come to the conclusion that he must be ill. "Are you alright?" she asked nervously, scanning his face as though hoping to find a symptom to explain his silence. Her eyes widened. "Oh no . . . . . Bella didn't curse you, did she? If she did I'm going to – mmph . . . "

It was quite possible he had acted too soon, Lucius reflected, as he silenced her with a kiss, wrapping one arm around her waist. He might have found the end of that sentence very interesting indeed . . . . then again, he might not have. All this talk had done little more than torture him, tonight.

Half annoyed at himself and half annoyed at Bellatrix (who, in Lucius' opinion, was causing all the trouble), he tightened his hold on Narcissa, until he wasn't quite sure if her gasp was a result of his forceful grip or a simple lack of oxygen.

"Lucius, stop,"she gasped.

Lucius ignored her, moving his lips from her mouth to her neck as she struggled against him, apparently torn somewhere between pleasure and pain.

"Stop . . . . Lucius . . . _stop!_"

Narcissa tore free with a muffled cry, falling backwards onto the bed. Lucius swallowed as he watched her fight for breath, and tried to piece together what, exactly, had come over him.

"Marry me." The words leapt from his throat without warning, as though they had been lying in wait, an ill-timed ambush.

"_What?" _

His heart had begun to beat uncomfortably quickly. Why had he said it?

"Marry me," he repeated in the most imperious tone he could devise, his mouth suddenly dry.

Narcissa stared back at him in silence, and Lucius bit back a groan. He knew that look. It was the look she had been giving Bellatrix for years - the one that suggested the behaviour that had provoked it tested the limits of even Cissy's forgiving notions of sanity.

"Why?" she asked, clearly staggered.

Lucius shrugged, struggling to come up with a more dishonest answer than the one on his mind.

"I want you to be mine," he managed at last, in a more stony tone than he'd intended.

Narcissa blinked. Apparently this wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. She reached for him and then changed her mind, opened her mouth and shut it again in silence. Her gaze flickered towards him once, twice . . . . three times, and still she seemed no closer to an answer.

The candles dwindled to nothing, a grey gloom settling over the room as they lay frozen, staring at the ceiling. The silence had become something stifling, and Lucius was almost relieved when light fled the room entirely.

(It seemed more merciful when it dawned on him that he was waiting for an answer Narcissa wasn't in the mood to provide.)

The silence contiued to swell, closing like an velvet fist about his throat, until Narcissa's deep breathing lulled it into retreat. She had fallen asleep, he realized with a jolt.

Certain she was truly oblivious, and unable to stomach the strange distance between them, Lucius reached out and pulled her into his arms again, so that her head was resting comfortably on his chest and everything looked the way it usually did, when she was happy.

_I want you to be mine. _

For the life of him, Lucius couldn't see what was wrong with it.


	30. The Fear

**A / N : Okay . . . . . my internet connection is giving me hell at the moment. I think it's the weather, but it's taken me three days to get online at all. I'm crossing my fingers hoping I can post this before my modem decides to torture me again . . . . :(**

**If I do succeed, here's chapter 30. (That's a little frightening actually . . . at one stage I thought this entire fic would be 30 chapters long. Goes to show how naive _I _am, anyway. To anyone I gave that estimate to – er, we still have about a third to go, so these aren't the last few chapters. I haven't gone completely mad!) **

**So . .. chapter thirty, in which Narcissa contemplates love and war, and is generally unfortunate and hopelessly naive. **

**Thanks as well to my anon reviewers, Ann and Akonyte - I appreciate it. :) **

**Chapter title is from the song by Lily Allen. Enjoy! **

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**The Fear **

"I don't understand what's wrong with me," Narcissa murmured, absently stirring her tea. She tilted her hand as subtly as possible, trying to picture a ring on her finger. "If you'd told me a year ago that Lucius would ask me to marry him, I'd probably have . . . I don't know. Burst into butterflies, if I'd even _believed _you . . . ."

"And now?"

Narcissa stopped stirring with an effort, and put the tea down. "And now he has asked me to marry him," she said miserably. "And I'm sitting in your kitchen, of all places, trying to understand why I didn't say yes."

She blinked, surprised, as a biscuit landed on her saucer. A plate of them had just appeared at her elbow, and there was a house-elf backing swiftly out of the room.

Rodolphus grinned. "You look like you're still in shock. Eat up."

"I'm not hungry," Cissy retorted. She frowned. "You – you don't look very well either," she said uncertainly.

It was true. There were dark circles under Rodolphus' eyes and a haze of stubble shadowed his cheek – he looked as if he had hardly slept. His smile was a little disconcerting too – weary and crumpled at the edges, as though the muscles were wearing away.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, and then he nudged the plate towards her, smile back in place. "Eat. So, why did you say no?"

Narcissa picked up a biscuit and placed it neatly on her plate, perfectly aligned with its untouched twin.

"I didn't say no, exactly," she said carefully. "I just . . . couldn't say yes. It was _horrible," _she admitted._ "_He just lay there, waiting for an answer, and I wanted to say something – really, I did – but I couldn't say yes and I couldn't stand to say no, so I just said nothing at all."

Rodolphus laughed. "And Malfoy didn't find that remotely unusual?"

Narcissa scowled. "Of course he thought it was unusual! Even Lucius doesn't think _that's_ a normal reaction to a proposal. He wasn't even there when I woke up, he probably thinks I'm completely heartless!" She paused, considering. "Although . . . . I think he quite likes it when I'm heartless, usually . . ."

Rodolphus cleared his throat, loudly, and Cissy reddened. "Sorry." She watched her hands twist in her lap for a moment, and then she sighed. "I need your help," she said quietly.

Rodolphus added a third and then a fourth biscuit to her plate, lining them up with unsteady fingers, like dominoes. (If he added another, Cissy thought worriedly, they were going to fall.)

"Why _my _help?" he asked roughly.

Narcissa blinked. "I don't know," she said slowly. "You're married, I suppose. You wouldn't rather torture someone than brave an emotional discussion, and I don't think you'd make me cry just to avoid one, either." She hesitated. "That's Severus, Lucius, _Bella_ . . . oh, wait. I forgot about Priscilla. You're . . . um . . . not a whore."

Rodolphus gave a curiously empty-sounding laugh. "No."

"And you were nice to me. At the hospital."

Cissy picked up a biscuit and took a reluctant bite, in the hope it would appease him. Watching her eat seemed to cheer people up - which was quite ironic, really, but it worked. Time and time again.

"I thought you might understand," she said softly.

Rodolphus stared at her for so long, at this, that Cissy felt her cheeks burn and had to look away, dipping a second biscuit into her tea to distract herself. Eventually she looked up, trying to pretend she wasn't blushing at all.

"You're staring at me," she said, as tactfully as one _could _say something like this.

"I know." There was an awkward silence, and then Rodolphus frowned. "How old are you?"

Narcissa sat up a little straighter. Rodolphus, she decided, was very rude. "I'm seventeen," she said haughtily. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Rodolphus' eyebrows shot upwards. _"Seventeen?" _he echoed. Then he laughed. "Seventeen. Right. A very sheltered seventeen, apparently . . . ."

Narcissa glared at him. "I'm not sheltered!"

This didn't have much effect. Her accuser simply smirked. "You are," he said dismissively. "Trust me, you are." He grinned. "You know, I always assumed 'little Cissy' was because you're so . . .." He trailed off at the look on her face. "Forget it. Why is Malfoy proposing to you anyway?" he asked curiously. "He doesn't think you're knocked up, does he?"

Cissy's mouth fell open. "No!" she protested, hoping her face didn't look the way it felt – as if her cheeks were roasting over a sudden burst of Fiendfyre. "No he does not," she said primly.

Rodolphus covered his mouth with one hand, and Cissy had a horrible feeling he was trying not to laugh at her. "Well then," he said, in something that sounded, just for a moment, like a mockery of her own tone. "Why is he so impatient?"

Cissy chewed her bottom lip, considering. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I thought – I thought -" - her voice faltered. "I thought he loved me." Her brow furrowed. "But now I think he just likes _owning_ things."

Rodolphus gave a contemptuous snort. "Sounds romantic, this proposal."

Narcissa groaned. "It wasn't. It really wasn't - but that doesn't matter. I'd marry him anyway. _I love him._ I don't care if he's horribly insensitive and doesn't have a clue how to be romantic and would rather say "I want to own you" than "I want you to love me"- even if that's what he really means. I don't care about all that. But -"

She stopped, abruptly. Rodolphus narrowed his eyes.

"But?"

Narcissa shut her eyes, blotting him out. _"But I don't think I can do it," _she whispered. "I don't think I can play second fiddle to someone else's service, I just . . . . _can't._"

There it was - the ugly, selfish truth. Narcissa didn't want _anyone_ to matter more than her. She didn't want a husband who disappeared in the middle of the night to do unspeakable things - a husband who enjoyed such things at worst, felt nothing at best, and dismissed her concerns either way. She didn't want to lie awake at night with only her darkest imaginings for company. She didn't want to swallow her complaints and bury her fears somewhere deep and distant, until she felt cold and numb, sick inside.

But she loved Lucius, and if he couldn't or wouldn't change . . . how many options did she have?

The water had hardly closed over her head, and already she felt like she was drowning.

A hand settled unexpectedly on her shoulder. Her heart lurched, and Cissy cried out instinctively and leapt to her feet. When she opened her eyes again, it was to find her teacup dashed against the flagstones and Rodolphus watching her with a distinctly worried expression.

"If you don't relax," he said with a wry smile, "Malfoy is probably going to kill me the next time we meet."

When Cissy merely shivered, Rodolphus sighed and squeezed her shoulder, shaking her a little. It was almost comforting.

"You hate what he does. Believe it or not, I'm not going to smite you for saying it."

A breath Narcissa hadn't realized she was holding left her in a rush, and her knees buckled.

Rodolphus swore abruptly and put a hand on her elbow, to steady her.

"When Lucius said you fall down a lot," he muttered, "I thought he was exaggerating."

Narcissa cringed. "Sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't be so . . . I know I shouldn't . . . But I can't talk about it. Ever. Not even to him, and sometimes I get so frightened because he doesn't talk about it either, and he thinks that's _normal _somehow . . . And then . . . and then I wonder if that's why he's so sick," she stuttered. "Because he never talks about it."

Rodolphus froze, his fingers still on her shoulder. Cissy couldn't decide if this gesture was reassuring or faintly inappropriate. (A side-effect of spending so much time with Lucius, she realized, was that it became difficult to gauge acceptable displays of emotion in other people. Anything not initiated by her or provoked by an exhaustive argument had begun to feel inherently suspicious.) But Rodolphus was married to Bella, and probably not suicidal, however strangely he might be behaving at present. He probably _wasn't_ trying to seduce her just to put a stop to her self-indulgent soliloquizing.

Then again . . . his hands were still there.

Perhaps he'd forgetten about them, she mused.

Cissy was still considering this unusual etiquette conundrum ('Appropriate Levels of Physical Contact With An In-Law'), when she noticed Rodolphus' expression, and realized she'd offended him.

"Fighting in a war doesn't make someone sick, Narcissa," he said angrily.

Cissy swallowed, stung. She had walked herself into exactly the sort of messy scene she'd been trying to avoid.

_Poor Lucius, _she thought absently. _Is this how I make you feel? _

"Wars aren't normal," she protested, glaring at Rodolphus. "And it can't be normal to enjoy them, surely? They're violent, and horrible, and -"

"Necessary."

Cissy folded her arms. "Are they really?"

Her opponent gave a contemptuous snort. "Of course. We can't just do nothing. We're a little past that, don't you think?"

Narcissa shrugged. "I don't see why we _have _to run around killing purebloods," she objected. "Even if they are blood traitors. It seems . . . extreme. Can't we just cut them off from us, and hate the Muggles the way we always did?" She narrowed her eyes. "The way that doesn't get anyone arrested or _killed, _I mean_."_

Rodolphus sighed. "Narcissa," he said slowly. "If you like, you can shut your eyes and sip tea and let the world at your pretty little feet fester. But sooner or later, the stink is going to find you. That's just the way it is."

Cissy let out a little moan of despair. "So we're all just supposed to lose our heads and put ourselves in danger?" she said desperately, a step away from stamping her foot in frustration. "That's not fair!"

There it was again - Rodolphus' odd, twisted laugh. "Fair?" he echoed. "You still think life is _fair?" _

Narcissa reddened. "I'd like it to be," she said defensively. "I'd like to get married, because I'd be good at it. I'd like Bella and Lucius to stop treating me like I'm a favourite toy they couldn't possibly bring themselves to share." Her lip wobbled. "I'd like Lucius to love me the way I love him. Is that really so wrong? Is it really so _stupid?" _

Her face was burning now, her voice bordering on shrill, but Narcissa no longer cared.

Rodolphus stared at her for a long minute, and then he shut his eyes, pained, and tightened his grip on her shoulder. Before Narcissa could ask what it was she shouldn't have said, Rodolphus stood up. He pulled her to her feet, and put his lips to her ear.

"_Yes," _he whispered hoarsely. "It is." He gave another bitter laugh. "But you don't know that yet."

Cissy shut her eyes again, but it didn't matter. Rodolphus was still holding onto her, and she couldn't take back the note in his voice that scared her so much, couldn't obliterate his words. The silence ballooned uncomfortably, pressing against her eardrums, and then there was a fluttering in her stomach, and Cissy suddenly felt as though she were floating an inch off the ground, not fully inhabiting her own skin. Rodolphus touched her cheek, but she could hardly feel it. She stood, frozen, afraid to move because if she did so the force keeping her in place might fail . . . and she might – she might – _she was going to faint. _

There was a click, and then another. _High heels, _she thought dizzily, and then cold, clammy fingers closed around her arm, anchoring her in the here and now, and Narcissa opened her eyes.

"Bella?"

Her sister did not smile. "Hello, Cissy," she spat.

Bellatrix raised her wand and pointed it Rodolphus' chest, precisely above his heart. Her fingers, Narcissa noticed, were trembling almost imperceptibly.

_Dominoes, _she thought briefly, inexplicibly . . . . and then Bella set her mouth in a scowl and a spark flew from the tip of her wand. It hit her husband, brilliant red, fizzing into the fabric of his robes and making him wince.

A slap, a sting .. . a signal flare.

"Explain," she snarled, and Narcissa swallowed hard.


	31. Guiding Light

**A / N : Hey! I hope everyone had a good Christmas and New Year. :) I meant to have this finished a lot sooner, but there's something about the festive season that just swallows up whole days at a time and I get nothing done as a result. That, and I was temporarily blighted with my usual bizarre writer's block, where the plot points are laid out in perfect detail in my notes . . . but trying to force my words into satisfactory sentences is like convincing a group of penguins to dance the can-can. I also seem to have lost the ability to judge how long a chapter will be from my notes alone. This chapter and the next were, again, supposed to be one. But it's better to write too much than nothing at all I suppose, and the breaks feel natural. So I won't spit in the eye of my muse. I'll try and have the continuing chapter up asap to atone for it. **

**Okay then! Chapter thirty-one, in which Bellatrix provides her little sister with an inadvertant but invaluable example of how **_**not **_**to approach marriage, Narcissa displays horrendous coping skills in the face of hysteria and high emotion . . . and it must surely occur to Lucius, at some point, that he is in fact surrounded by mad people. **

**(Um . . . I've just been told fanfic is acting up again with regard to alerts. If anyone didn't get an alert for this (or did!) please let me know? Thanks. ) **

**Chapter title is from the song by Muse, and reviews are always welcome. Enjoy!**

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**Guiding Light **

"Bella . . . I was going to faint. He was holding me up, that's all."

When Bellatrix did not lower her wand - or give any indication she had even heard her sister - Cissy groaned.

"Rodolphus, tell her you were holding me up," she said wearily. "This is ridiculous."

Rodolphus did not so much as glance at her. Bella's wand had moved closer now - pressed against his heart - and he was staring at her, apparently blind to everything else.

Cissy's mouth had gone strangely dry. Such a tiny thing . . . but it hurt all the same. Would she ever change? She still felt sick, dizzy, and uncertain, and any minute now Bella might curse her horribly . . . . but it was the unwelcome reminder that she was _still_ naive, despite her best efforts, that hurt the most.

"Oh . . ." she whispered. Rodolphus' eyes flickered briefly in her direction, and then bounced back to Bella.

"Your sister came to tell you she's getting engaged," he told his wife with a sour smile.

"Liar."

Bella's voice was brittle.

Rodolphus shrugged. "Ask her yourself. Ask Malfoy, for that matter. If she says yes I'm sure he'll be only too happy to rub your nose in it."

Cissy opened her mouth, about to protest this awful slander - and then shut it again, frowning. She wasn't entirely sure Lucius _wouldn't _do that, if his attitude to Avery was anything to go by.

Rodolphus had yet to take his eyes off Bella. "She came to tell you," he lied, watching intently for her reaction. _"But_ _you weren't here._" He gave an odd, hollow laugh. "I wonder where you were, Bella . . . . ."

Bellatrix swallowed, hard, and Cissy suddenly became aware of how strange her sister looked. Marble white and dishevelled-looking . . . . Her bottom lip was a bloody, pulpy mess - as though she had been biting it - and her hair was damp, her skin cold and clammy.

Cissy couldn't decide if she looked ill or just . . . mad.

She wanted to reach out - wanted to hug her sister, warm her up again, _make her sane again . . . _but she didn't know how. She never had, and so Narcissa stood stock still, invisible, and did what she and Bella had always done – watch each other fall apart.

Rodolphus seemed to have forgotten about his sister-in-law already. He had also either forgotten about the wand pressed against his heart, or simply no longer cared about it.

"Where were you?" he asked softly.

Bella swallowed again, and then, unexpectedly . . . . she smiled. She raised her wand, allowing her husband to breathe again, and took a step towards him, so that she was all but standing on his toes.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, as she wound her arms around his neck. "I'm here _now." _

Rodolphus stiffened. "What do you want, a pat on the head? Well done, Bella . . ."

His wife flinched. "I don't need your approval," she snapped.

Rodolphus gave a contemptuous snort. "That must be helpful."

Bella's eyes flashed, and for a moment Cissy thought she was going to curse him. Then she laughed.

"Don't you trust me?" she breathed, tugging playfully on his neck. They were so close now that her lips brushed against his as she spoke. She closed her eyes, tracing the sore spot on Rodolphus' chest with the tip of her finger.

Narcissa squirmed uncomfortably. She was beginning to wonder how people like Dumbledore achieved silent Apparition. She had always considered it a sneaky, show-offy thing to do, but it suddenly seemed immensely practical.

She made a mental note to ask Lucius about it.

There was a long silence - and then, without warning, Rodolphus broke it. He clamped his fingers around Bella's arms and pulled her up onto her toes. She smiled and leant forward, lips parted . . . . but her husband turned his head at the last moment, so that her mouth brushed his cheek instead.

He laughed again – an entirely joyless sound – and put his lips to her ear.

"No."

Bella blinked. "No?" she echoed, stung.

"No."

"Well . . . 'no' what?" Bella tugged impatiently on her husband's collar, as though hoping to marshall his vocal chords into obedience.

Rodolphus stared back, impassive - and then seemed to realize she wasn't joking.

"No, I don't_ trust you_," he said savagely, shaking her.

Bella frowned as he let her go, and half-reached for him again. Then she scowled, rubbing her arms.

"Of course you trust me," she said petulantly. She tapped him on the nose, as though he were a forgetful child. "_You _married me."

"Not recently I didn't."

Bella had begun to bleed again. She sucked on her lower lip, considering Rodolphus' retort.

"You love me," she accused, in a tone of almost covetous disgust.

Narcissa stared. She didn't think even Lucius could convey the sentiment in such a strange manner - and he could be very strange indeed on the subject of love. But she liked to think she had (mostly) convinced him to accept it as an occasionally unpleasant but ultimately inescapable fact of life.

Bella, on the other hand, behaved as though love were a terrible disease – one she felt compelled to bludgeon into remission, as violently as possible, whenever the symptoms began to show.

This point seemed to have occurred to Rodolphus as well. He exhaled heavily, passing a hand over his face, and then stepped towards his wife again, touching the tip of her nose with a small smile.

"That doesn't mean I trust you, Trixiebell."

Bella blanched. "Of course you trust me," she hissed, forcing his finger back so quickly Cissy could have sworn she heard a crack. She set her jaw, eyes flashing. "I'm more trusted than you'll ever be!"

A ringing silence followed her words, and this time, Narcissa wasn't the only one to stare. Rodolphus seemed to have been struck dumb too.

"So it - it's like that, is it?" he managed at last.

The words were sharp as a slap in the silence, and his voice didn't sound right. It was as though someone was pressing against his windpipe . . . as though he couldn't breathe properly, though Bella had long since moved her wand away.

Bellatrix froze, colour - an ugly, mottled red - creeping into her cheeks. Then her expression hardened.

"Yes," she said firmly - feverishly, almost. "It's like that. That's how it is." She dropped his hand and stepped back, putting out her tongue to taste the blood beginning to seep through her split lip. "It's exactly like that," she whispered. "I'm more trusted than you'll ever be . . ."

Narcissa had no idea who her sister was trying to convince. Rodolphus? Herself? (It almost certainly wasn't Cissy, who could hardly comprehend a word of this conversation.)

Rodolphus was still staring at his wife. The intensity of his gaze had become a little alarming.

"It's not like that," he said harshly, the words so constricted he had to force them out. He gave a bitter laugh. "I don't believe you."

Bella flinched. She met his gaze for an instant and then looked down at her ragged nail beds, considering.

"No," she murmured unhappily. "Not exactly like that . . . ." A soft smile crept across her face. "But it's enough."

"Stop it!"

The third, shrill voice was so unexpected that it took Cissy a moment to understand it had been torn from her own throat - which promptly closed up as Bella's mouth fell open. She took a deep, fortifying breath, and plunged on before her sister could recover . . .. or decide upon a curse.

"Stop hurting each other, it's horrible! I don't even know what you're trying to-"

Bella's expression darkened. "You little brat!" she said hotly, cutting her sister off mid-sentence. "Who do you think-?"

Rodolphus stepped forward with a warning look and pushed her hand down, so that her wand was pointing safely at the floor.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," he murmured. "Do you really want her to?"

His lips brushed against her ear, and Bella froze. She closed her eyes for a moment, mouthing something inaudible.

_'No'? 'I don't know'? _

It was almost impossible to tell.

Narcissa looked on, incredulous, as Bella opened her eyes again and considered her husband, head tilted to one side. Before he could stop her, she had kissed him.

Cissy watched her tug on his bottom lip, trying to pull against him as Rodolphus stood stock still. Her head was beginning to hurt. Even by Bella's standards, this was a bizarre exchange. Up and down, back and forth . . . Narcissa was starting to feel ill again, just _watching _it.

She decided to back out of the room as quietly as possible, and find somewhere to appreciate her own emotional mess - in cold, blissful silence. Unfortunately, it had been years since Cissy tried to fade into the background, and she seemed to have lost the art of invisibility.

Rodolphus' eyes flickered towards her as her shoes tapped against the floor, and he seemed to come to his senses, pushing Bella roughly away.

"That wasn't for your benefit," he snarled. "It was for hers."

He jerked a thumb at Narcissa and Bella scowled, raising her wand.

"Fine. You've proved your point," she snapped. "But if that's _really_ how you want to do this . . . "

Rodolphus stepped forwards again, but Cissy didn't give him the chance to intervene this time. She ducked instinctively and fled the room, letting the door slam behind her in the sort of exit that would have given her mother a heart attack, if she'd been there to see it. She ought to move, she knew . . . . but instead she stood frozen, her heart hammering in her chest as the door shivered against her spine.

There was silence from the other room, save for a tiny tapping sound. Shoes against the floor, a wand on wood . . . . someone was weighing up their options, it seemed.

"You knew. You had to _know . . . _."

The voice belonged to Bella. There was something raw and exposed in her tone, neither anger nor despair, but faintly reminiscent of both. The sound drew the blood from Narcissa's face, though she hardly knew why.

She could stay, she realized abruptly. She could listen to every word of what was coming, and she might understand, finally, what had happened to her sister.

She would never be forgiven for it, of course. But all the secrets she had never been trusted with . . . the nagging questions and awful suspicions . . . if she stayed, she would hear everything. And didn't she deserve to, really? Wasn't that what she wanted?

Bella had lied to her, year after year, and Rodolphus had just used her as the catalyst for a confrontation. Didn't she deserve to know why?

_It isn't your business, _a voice whispered in her head. _And it almost certainly won't help you decide whether or not to get married. This can't be a normal marriage. _

Cissy shut her eyes, battling her conscience. _But Bella would do it. Bella would find out everything, and use it to - _

She froze, appalled at herself. Did she really want to be _Bella? _She broke away from the door with a gasp and crossed the room, pulling the double doors of the dining room firmly closed and breathing hard.

Silence. At last.

There was an earsplitting crash, and a muffled shout, followed by an angry shriek that was all too easy to identify - and a laugh that was possibly even worse. Cissy scarcely had time to feel sorry for Rodolphus when the laugh became an indignant scream . . . and then the Lestranges were shouting at each other, as though that would solve anything, as though ripping the words from each other's throats would rob them of their meaning somehow.

Two rooms away, Narcissa listened to their voices rise and fall – distorted, like a song fading in and out of tune, a ship being dragged beneath the waves - and wondered if she was going to be sick. All this tossing and turning unsettled her stomach, a sensation like sea-sickness.

Lucius didn't shout, she thought suddenly.

Of course, Lucius tried not to do anything (other than sex, the apparent exception to most of his rules) which involved raising his temperature to levels even approaching lukewarm. It was frustrating, and cold, and sometimes Cissy tired of having to _prompt_ what ought to be a reflex response . . . . but it was quiet. It was calm, wasn't it? She could scream at Lucius until she was blue in the face, and he would never react with more than annoyance. She had always envied Bella, because sometimes her sister's life seemed like one epic, tempestuous drama after another, and it was hard not to worry that her own was a little . . . passionless . . . by comparison. Lucius, after all, was a man of carefully considered threats and even more carefully expressed emotion. He wasn't the sort of man who would flirt with her sister to make her jealous, or physically shake her if she wouldn't listen to him . . . and she was almost sure that if she threw a curse at him, he wouldn't throw one back.

Her thoughts were coming together, achingly slowly, but her heart was racing and her hands had begun to shake.

There was an unexpected _'boom' – _a hollow, gong-like sound, as if a curse had just collided with the kitchen cauldron - and Bella's voice rose to a scream of unprecedented pitch. Narcissa had no difficulty making out the words this time.

"You _bastard!" _

An ear-splitting bang followed this exclamation, and Cissy felt the floorboards rattle beneath her feet. She curled into a ball on the chaise-longue and pressed her hands over her ears, to blot out the awful noise. She felt like a child again, torn somewhere between feeling afraid for her sister and afraid _of _her.

There was another crash - and then she saw it, caught like a camera flash as she looked up : the house-elf, lying curled in the very same pose on the floor, eyes wide and wobbling, utterly pathetic.

Narcissa half-retched – and then, before she had really decided to do it, she leapt to her feet and slapped the elf.

"Get _out!" _

Her hand was stinging, and she knew instantly she'd gone too far. People didn't slap their house-elves, after all. They ordered them to punish themselves, in a calm, assured sort of way. Sometimes they rapped them over the head with a hard object, if the stupid little creatures were getting in the way, because a good house-elf was supposed to be unobtrusive. But they didn't _slap _them. Slapping was for people - preferably people no more than a foot shorter than their assailant.

Only a mad person would slap a house-elf.

It was one of the most humiliating moments of her entire life, and this was how Narcissa knew, even before she opened her eyes, that it had not gone unwitnessed. Sure enough, Lucius was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised in an attitude of stunned disbelief.

When he kicked the house-elf, and sent it flying headlong into the hearth, Narcissa decided she might just love him more than anyone she had ever known.


	32. The Silence

**A / N : I'm posting this on Valentine's Day, apparently. Possibly quite ironically . . . . **

**Ah well. For anyone who hasn't eloped / been whisked away to Paris / been devoured by a Care Bear . . . . here's Chapter 32, in which Narcissa and Lucius communicate, miscommunicate, and utterly fail to communicate. Chapter title is from the song by Alexandra Burke, and reviews make me ridiculously happy. As always. Enjoy! :)**

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**The Silence**

"I slapped a house-elf," Narcissa said, numb.

Lucius cleared his throat. "I expect it deserved it."

Cissy bit her lip, contemplating a lie. "Not really," she admitted.

There was an awkward silence, as Lucius took out his wand and removed an invisible smudge from his shoe. It was hardly surprising, in retrospect. Lucius believed all house-elves were inherently guilty of something, and regularly punished his as a pre-emptive measure. To him, "Upsetting Narcissa" was a charge automatically taken as a crime and undeserving of any discussion. It ought to have been worrying, really . . . but there was something tremendously reassuring about his certainty, and if she was brutally honest, Narcissa couldn't really care less about house-elves. She certainly didn't care for their welfare as much as she cared for Lucius' unquestioning support, and the sight of happy house-elves had certainly never filled her with a fervent desire to kiss _them_.

The Lestranges' argument showed no sign of abating. Lucius stared at the opposite wall, a faint frown line apparent on his forehead. Cissy wondered, dimly, if it was Rodolphus' raised voice that had alarmed him, or if he was simply perturbed by the racket Bella was making. If his expression was anything to go by, there was definitely _something _off about the situation.

There was an ear-splitting bang (suggesting yet another of Bella's curses had fallen short of the mark) and it occured to her that Lucius might simply fear for the foundations of the room he was standing in. But before she could come to a decision he shook himself out of his reverie and joined her on the chaise-longue, sitting rather stiffly beside her.

Narcissa glanced downwards. There was precisely an inch and half between the outermost edge of Lucius' cloak and the tip of her little finger.

She waited, wondering if he was going to put his arm around her at any point, or continue to behave as though they were on public display - though their hosts were unlikely to emerge from the kitchen and inspect their manners. Even the house-elf had fled the room.

Her fingers started to tingle.

"Are they always like this?" she asked hoarsely, above the din.

Lucius examined the top of his stick, which contained nothing more engrossing than the reflection of Cissy's kneecap. "Not . . . always," he said delicately.

Narcissa looked up sharply. "But not _never_?" she probed.

Lucius simply shrugged. Another awkward silence fell.

"I thought he was good for her," Narcissa said slowly. "She always seemed . . . better . . . with him. I thought – I suppose I thought . ." She trailed off, lost for words and painfully aware that she didn't have the right ones anyway. "I don't know. You could have told me - _warned_ me . . . something, Lucius."

Lucius turned his stick over in his hands, considering this accusation. At last he cleared his throat again.

"What did they say?" he asked carefully. "What . . . ah . . . set her off, exactly?"

Cissy swallowed. "I don't think Bella started it," she admitted, bewildered. "It was like Rodolphus _wanted _to argue with her . . . . and then he changed his mind . . . and changed it back again . . . I'm not sure. I didn't understand it," she said hopelessly.

_I didn't want to understand it. _

Lucius coughed, patting her hand in an awkward and thoroughly ineffectual gesture. "Good," he said absently. Cissy had a funny feeling he was trying to eavesdrop on the Lestranges. She watched him tilt his head ever-so-slightly, frowning at the opposite wall, and then slipped her hand in his and squeezed his fingers sharply. Lucius jumped.

"Mmm. What? I mean . . . ." He paused, his frown deepening as he watched her bite her lip. "Yes," he said firmly. "Good. Your sister's delusions are not your concern."

Cissy stared at him. And then she cracked.

"I don't want to end up like them," she whispered, curling into his chest.

Lucius froze. "What makes you think we might?"

"I don't know," Narcissa murmered, watching him toy with the fourth finger of her left hand. "Tell me we won't be like them," she pleaded. "Please, Lucius . . . ."

Lucius sighed. "I asked you to marry me," he said quietly, "because I was hoping we would be different. Evidently."

Cissy swallowed, her heart throbbing painfully in her chest. "What if we're not? What if we're just like them?" An awful thought occured to her. "What if we're _worse?" _

Lucius seemed to have been turned to stone. Even with one ear pressed to his chest, Narcissa couldn't be sure he was still breathing. And then, gently, he prised her away, holding her at arm's length . . . and looked at her. Narcissa stared back, a breath shivering in her throat. She ought to say something – to explain, to banish her own fears for once – but the words wouldn't come, and it was strange, but the longer the silence held sway, the less they seemed to matter. Lucius was staring at her intently, as though something in her face would provide him with an answer. He touched her cheek briefly, and then pulled her in again, so that Cissy found herself in the same position as before. She kissed his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, abandoning all semblence of pride.

Lucius laughed unsteadily. Whether he thought her childish or was embarrassed at his own behaviour was difficult to discern.

He shifted his weight slightly and Narcissa began to sit up again, before she realized he had simply put a hand in his pocket. Pulled something out of his pocket, in fact.

"I was going to give this to you," he said quietly, unfurling his fingers.

There was a ring lying on the palm of his hand, the silver band tinted with a haze of blue – her own eye, reflected within it. Narcissa swallowed as she picked it up, raising it to the light to examine it more closely.

It was beautiful.

"You _were _going to give it to me?" she asked hesitantly, fingers tightening instinctively on cool silver.

Lucius smiled thinly. "I think it might suit you too well," he said cryptically.

"I don't understand."

"I think it might be . . . unlucky," Lucius explained patiently. "Unfortunate. I'm not sure." He put out a finger, tilting the ring so that the diamond gleamed - a stark, bright flash, like lamp-light in a darkened room. "It belonged to my mother." He gave a hollow laugh. "By all accounts, she wasn't very happy wearing it."

Narcissa tilted the ring herself, watching the diamond glimmer. Mesmerized.

"I like it."

"She died wearing it," Lucius said awkwardly. "I thought it might disturb you . . . . in retrospect."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Of course this macabre take on things had only occured to him _in retrospect. _

"I don't mind," she said softly.

It was true. She couldn't explain it, but there was something strangely appropriate about Lucius presenting her with a dead woman's ring. Something oddly right. "I like it," she repeated.

She sat up properly, placing the ring carefully in the very centre of Lucius' palm. It perfectly bisected one of the lines on his hand, and Cissy wondered, briefly, which one. The life line? The heart line? She couldn't remember the name of the third line. (Cissy had daydreamed through years of Divination, only coming to long enough to giggle at the hideously sarcastic and highly entertaining dream diaries provided by Severus - who was, if possible, even more contemptuous of the subject than her. )

Perhaps it didn't matter.

When Lucius simply regarded her with a faintly bemused expression, she sighed. "You're supposed to give it back to me."

"I can buy you another one. If you would prefer -"

Narcissa groaned. "Lucius. I _like _it. Honestly. Sometimes I feel you don't listen to me at all, you know . . ."

Before she could get too far into this complaint, Lucius prised her left hand free of stubbornly folded arms, and slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Of course I listen to you," he said wryly. "Selectively, sometimes, but I listen nonetheless."

Narcissa studied the ring on her finger, too pleased to be truly offended by this statement but not above a little pretence.

"_Selectively?" _she objected._ "_That's no good. You should listen to everything I say. It's all very important."

Lucius' lip twitched. "You can't deny that some of the things you say are at least a little . . . irrelevant, darling."

Cissy considered this. She tended to talk simply for the sake of talking, that much was true. But it was easier, sometimes, to prattle on about Priscilla's terrible taste in shoes, or her mother's snide comments over breakfast, or the crease the house-elves had left in her best cloak. It stopped her from bringing up the things that were a little _too _relevant, and it filled the long, worrying silences Lucius seemed completely at ease with and Narcissa had never really understood. He seemed to do an awful lot of serious thinking during these silences, while Cissy couldn't find anything at all to think about. Then again - Lucius usually humoured her when she did begin to talk, even if he wasn't remotely interested in the subject matter. He usually behaved as though she were a pleasant piece of background music, and occasionally nodded or made some small attempt to pretend he had been listening attentively. It was quite sweet.

"I think you like it," she decided. She twisted the engagement ring an unnecessary fraction to the left, marvelling at the fit, and then realized Lucius was watching her. "What's the matter?" she asked nervously.

He laughed softly. "You can be very . . . astute," he murmered.

Narcissa blushed brilliant pink and did the only thing she could think to do – kissed him. She couldn't have come up with a clever response at that moment if she'd tried to.

Bella and Rodolphus were still screaming at each other (shouldn't they have paused for breath by now?) but she no longer cared. Lucius had swept her half-out of her seat, so that her head was resting comfortably against the arm of the chaise-longue as he kissed her back, with more passion than she'd intended or truthfully expected. But it seemed to be working. Lost in a world of sense and taste and solid feeling, Narcissa could hardly hear the unsettling rise and fall of Bella's voice. She arched her back, ever so slightly, and tugged on his lower lip, trying to pull him closer. For a moment or longer she had no idea where her hands were or what they were doing. They seemed to be moving independently of her, pushing impatiently through tightly-buttoned shirt-sleeves and across the smooth skin of Lucius' arm . . . she sank her fingers tightly into his upper arms, feeling the muscles twitch at her command, instinctively pulling him closer . . .

It was wrong to do this here. Of course. It was improper. But the blood was rushing in her ears and she was beginning to feel beyond thought, beyond reason . . . .

"Narcissa. _Narcissa. _Are you trying to drive me . . . ah . . . _ah . . ._"

The second "ah" sounded as though it were pain-provoked. Lucius pulled away from her with obvious effort, and Narcissa realized she had been holding on much too tightly. He was staring at her now as though trying to decide what was wrong with her - and he still didn't understand. _He still couldn't see it. _

Cissy shivered as Bella screamed again, backed by a crash of crumbling masonry. Someone, it seemed, had gained the upper hand at last in the Lestranges' argument, and time was running out. She clutched Lucius' hand, breathing deep against the icy fingers curled around her heart.

"I want you," she said fiercely. When he began to laugh, she shook her head. "I don't mean it like that. Well . . I _do," _she admitted, blushing. "But I don't just mean 'I want you now.' I mean . . ." She swallowed. "You're the only thing I want. I don't want politics, and complications, and – and a Cause. I don't think they shouldn't be there somewhere," she amended hastily, "but I don't want them there _all the time_, Lucius."

Lucius rubbed his arm, frowning. (He seemed to realize this was not a remotely manly action, and to find it rather annoying.)

"I don't discuss . . . politics . . . all the time," he said reproachfully.

Narcissa reached out, at this, and sank her fingers into his arm again. "Yes," she said stubbornly, "you _do. _You talk about politics morning, noon and night, and I don't care. I don't care when we're having breakfast and you complain that bribery is more expensive than it used to be. I don't care when we're at a dinner party and you're so busy bemoaning the lenience of the Wizengamot that you don't notice the person you're talking to is staring at my cleavage. I don't care when we're in bed and I end up with ink stains on my elbows, because you've been writing letters to the Ministry again. It's irrelevant. You know it is. But there's a difference between 'politics' and . . . and . . ." Cissy faltered and let her hand fall, the fight draining out of her. "And that," she murmered, pointing at his bare forearm.

Lucius had gone very still. "And what would you have me do?" he asked, his voice dangerously even.

Narcissa stiffened. "Don't," she said tightly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Don't?" he repeated, and Narcissa scowled.

"Yes, _don't. _Don't make it look as if I'm asking the impossible. I'm not. I never have. I'm honestly not that stupid."

"Then what are you asking for?"

"A line! A divide. Something uncrossable, Lucius, somewhere to draw the line because I can't cope without it." Narcissa inhaled deeply, fighting to keep some sort of composure. If she lost it, the argument was as good as lost. _Don't cry. Don't. _"You brought it to bed," she said thickly. "You sat there, telling me that you'd killed someone who looked like me – no, that you'd killed someone _because _she looked like me – on _Bella's say-so! – _and you thought I wouldn't . . . you thought I'd . . . what did you think? That I'd laugh? That I'd let you put your hands on me without a second thought?"

The words were falling from her mouth now, ill-timed and ill-matched, but she couldn't keep them in anymore.

Lucius had turned an ugly shade of red. "You asked," he said in a mechanical tone. "You gave me the impression the truth was what you wanted, and I gave it to you. I don't see what more you expect of me."

Narcissa stared at him. She was going to lose this argument. She was going to cry in a minute, she could feel it. Could he honestly not see what he'd done wrong?

"I don't – I can't – it's _all the time, _Lucius, I feel like you're not mine any-"

She was still stammering incoherently when he stood up and pulled her into an awkward embrace.

"Narcissa. Shh. You're upsetting yourself."

_I need to, _Cissy thought dully, but Lucius had already pushed ahead.

"I know it must be . .. inconvenient for you," he admitted. "But it won't be for long." He traced the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb. "We're growing stronger by the day," he coaxed. "You can't deny that much, surely? The Order, the Ministry, the rest of the rabble – they can't hold out against us indefinitely." His fingers tightened on her shoulder. "They will fall precisely because of the measures you find so distasteful. It's unappetizing, of course, but the end more than justifies the means. You must understand that."

Narcissa felt her throat convulse at his words. They sounded the way all Lucius' lies did – glib and lofty, just a little too complicated to grasp immediately. And now he was using them on her.

Lucius seemed to take her involuntary twitch as a nod, and relaxed a little.

"It won't last," he murmered, and this time Cissy did nod, because she wanted it to be true. "You understand that?"

To this Narcissa had no response. She wasn't entirely sure she believed him. To distract herself, she rolled his sleeve down again, tying the button as tightly as possible and hiding the Mark from view.

Lucius frowned at his arm, lost in thought. "A line," he mused at last. Considering.

Narcissa nodded. "Don't tell me if - if I don't need to know," she said nervously. "That's all."

It was all she could ask for.

Lucius smoothed her hair, putting her to rights again before it even occured to her to do it for herself.

"I'm not sure I see your-"

He was interrupted, at this point, by the sound of glass breaking. Narcissa jumped.

Rodolphus had just stumbled into the sideboard, sporting a black eye and looking distinctly worse for wear. If he was surprised by Lucius' presence in his parlour, he didn't show it. He simply coughed, spitting blood into the carpet.

"Don't stop on my account."

Cissy swallowed, apprehensive, and took an automatic step backwards, comforted by the feel of Lucius' breath against the back of her neck.

There was silence, save for Rodolphus' ragged breathing. At last, he broke it again.

"You're staring," he said wryly, his eyes locked on Narcissa.

Lucius' fingers settled on her shoulder, and Cissy flinched.

"What did you do to my sister?" she said warily. "Where's Bella?"

Rodolphus regarded her for a long minute. Then he spat onto the carpet again (Cissy didn't need to look at Lucius to know his lip had curled at this - she could almost _feel_ it), and laughed at her.

"She doesn't know you," he said slowly. "And you don't know her, apparently. Do you really think I'd be here if I'd won?"

Cissy swallowed. "Where would you be?" The words had left her mouth without thinking.

Rodolphus gave a hollow laugh. He kicked the skirting board with the heel of his boot, considering.

"Go home," he said bitterly. "Plan your engagement party."

"What about Bella?"

"She'll simmer down," Rodolphus said dully. There was something odd about his eyes – they were red-rimmed and unblinking, fixed upon the floor, and his hands had balled themselves into fists. The action didn't entirely disguise the fact that his fingers were shaking, or distract from the disappearance of his wand.

Narcissa swallowed the lump in her throat and took half a step towards him, hoping to squeeze his arm or check for injury . . . to touch him in some small way, and reassure him. But Lucius' grip tightened painfully on her shoulder - his thumb digging into her collarbone - and stopped her in her tracks. She inhaled sharply. Lucius didn't relax.

"I -" Cissy opened her mouth and closed it again, feeling foolish.

She couldn't stand the look on Rodolphus' face. It was achingly familiar, and for the first time she wondered if she'd done the right thing. Perhaps she should have listened to the argument, as intrusive as it would have been, and as frightened as she was of the truth. Cissy sometimes felt she and Rodolphus were the only two people in the world capable of loving Bella . . . and she had just abandoned him. It was hard not to feel a little cruel.

Rodolphus gave a harsh laugh that was really little more than a cough. _"Go home,"_ he repeated, lifting her chin.

Narcissa's eyes had begun to smart. She wasn't sure what had come over Lucius, but if he squeezed her shoulder any more firmly, she was in danger of snapping clean in two. She couldn't concentrate properly. She wanted to say something, anything, to show she understood, but the words wouldn't come and suddenly it was too late.

"Everything's fine," Rodolphus said in a horrible, hollow tone, as he let his fingers fall. Before she could do much more than nod, Lucius had begun to steer her towards the door. She opened her mouth, worried, when Lucius turned to pick up his stick . . . but this time it was Rodolphus himself who halted her attempts to reassure him. He touched a finger to her lips, just as he had in St Mungo's – a gesture that meant "it's our secret" - and Narcissa fell silent in an instant.

She swallowed her arguments as Lucius fastened her cloak (rubbing her shoulder in a distinctly guilty fashion), and then Rodolphus bundled them onto the doorstep, wearing an awful, unconvincing smile. Narcissa caught one last glimpse of him as Lucius twisted into empty air, dragging her with him – her brother-in-law's cracked, stricken smile was the last thing she saw before the scene spun out of view, and the rolling green lawns of Malfoy Manor replaced the cobbled city streets. She stumbled as her heels sank into the grass growing wild beside the gates, and briefly considered feigning a dizzy spell, so that Lucius would hold onto her just a little longer. But in the end she straightened up, willing away the lump in her throat, and tried to smile. The result felt strangely artificial.

"Well," she said, with a brightness she wasn't entirely sure she felt. "It looks like I have a party to organize, doesn't it?"

Lucius frowned at her, as though he suspected something was wrong. He half-reached for her, but seemed to think better of it at the last minute, tightening his grip on the stick instead.

"Yes," he said redundantly.

Narcissa fiddled with her engagement ring and smoothed her hair. Then she put her hand in his, summoning her most purposeful smile.

"It's going to be _perfect," _she said insistantly, tugging him towards the house.

Whether this was a hope or a threat, she couldn't quite say.


	33. Come Round Soon

**A / N : An update! (I know, I know . . .)**

**I won't go into the myriad reasons I haven't updated in so long, but I will apologize. I know how annoying it is to get hooked on a story, only to watch the updates dry up, and I never intended to be that kind of author. But I have a lot on my plate, and unfortunately, I can't always put my stories first, or even give them a reasonable position on my priorities list. But that is just a case of not having the time or energy to write, and it's not the same as giving up. I'm doing my best to write more of my stories, and it's not lack of ideas or enthusiasm that's getting in the way. Just wanted to clear that up. ;) **

**Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this, and to all the people who have left me such lovely reviews for this, both anonymously and otherwise – even when it hadn't been updated in a while. I appreciate it more than you know. **

**Chapter title is from the song by Sarah Bareilles. (Because I still can't title worth a damn.) Enjoy!**

* * *

Narcissa sighed, as discreetly as possible. It was raining, and it didn't even have the decency to do it discreetly. Her last three owls had probably drowned.

She paused, her quill hovering an inch above the parchment, and wondered what the etiquette was for a desperate missive to one's sister. "_Dear Bella" _sounded as if nothing was wrong, "_Oh, Bella!" _sounded as if the world was ending, and _"Bella." _was just plain brusque. Cissy watched the ink drip off the end of her quill, and decided to skip straight to the bulk of the letter, the phrasing of which presented more than enough difficulty in itself. _"Bella, please stop ignoring me" _could result in embarrassment if she was wrong, while _"Bella, I have the feeling you're ignoring me" _would only make her sister smirk if she wasn't. She wasn't even safe with pleasantries - _"I hope you're well" _would probably only offend Bellatrix, who considered anyone not nursing at least one minor injury to be living half a life, and _"I hope Rodolphus is well" _was probably unwise, as the last time she'd seen them Bella had been aiming curses at his head. And then there was the source of all the trouble (well, aside from the myriad and frankly mysterious problems that assailed her sister's marriage). Narcissa had no idea how to tackle this aspect of the letter. Something about _"I'm getting married to Lucius, whether you like him or not!" _seemed tactless – but _"Can I please marry Lucius?" _was just absurd. Bella was her sister, not her father, after all – she didn't need her permission!

No. Of course not. Only . . . Bella had always managed to be more frightening than her father, and currently had in her favour the fact that she was upright and breathing. And it would be . . . _nice . . . _to think she approved. Or at least that she wouldn't stand outside the wedding raining down curses with the confetti.

"You can't be sending invites already, surely? We haven't even announced the engagement yet."

Narcissa spun round in her seat, flushing. "I don't know what you mean."

"Hmm." Lucius turned a new page in his book and settled more comfortably into his chair. His indifference, Cissy felt, would have been more convincing if he hadn't been _smirking. _"If you say so," he continued languidly. "I could swear I heard the scratch of a quill. It's been quite persistant actually."

"It must be your imagination."

"Or mice, perhaps."

"You never know."

"Quite." Lucius turned another page and glanced up at her. "By the way, you've splashed something on your collar. It looks remarkably like ink."

Narcissa winced, inwardly cursing her own jumpiness. "Oh, all _right!" _she snapped._ "_I was writing to Bella, if you must know."

Lucius yawned. "And why would you want to do that?"

"Because I don't think she wants me to marry you. And now I think she's not even speaking to me, which is just silly."

Lucius turned another page. "Oh dear."

"Lucius! I'm hurt, if you must know."

"Ah."

"Oh for goodness sake! I am serious, you know. She's my sister! What would you do if Bella was _your _sister and she wasn't speaking to you?"

"I'd relish it."

Cissy scowled, and lobbed a cushion at his head. She missed, but knocked the book out of his hand by happy coincidence, and succeeded in startling him out of his chair, which was almost as satisfying.

Lucius sighed, stooping to pick up the book. "All I'm saying is that sending letters to her is a waste of time. She'll only throw them in the fire."

"Not mine. She wouldn't."

"Certainly she would. I've seen her do it." He mimed opening a letter, wide-eyed, and then scowled and pretended to blast it out of the air. "'_Just more drivel from Cissy. It's nothing important. I hate those owls. I don't like the way it's looking at me. It doesn't know its place. Someone ought to teach it a lesson. It pecked me! It dares! Oh, we'll see how haughty you are in a minute, won't we, when I've turned you into a feather duster for the house elf! Hah!" _

Narcissa pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking with laughter. "Stop it, stop it! That's a terrible impression of Bella! Besides . . . the owl incident only happened once, and I'm _almost _sure she was drunk at the time."

Lucius paused for breath himself and leaned against the arm of her chair, shaking out his handkerchief. "I still wouldn't bet against a repeat performance."

Narcissa angled her head, letting him dab the inkstains out of her collar. "You're a monster."

"Hmm."

"Stop kissing my neck. Its not going to distract me. You're thoroughly tactless and hopelessly insensitive and – Lucius! You just fell over . . . "

"Backwards," Lucius corrected. "I fell backwards. Into a chair. Which was, I think, remarkably tactful of me." He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her forward, so that their foreheads were pressed together, and his words fell against her lips, leaving her dizzy. "And now I'm making you comfortable," he murmered. "Which is . . . sensitive . .. of me, wouldn't you say?"

Narcissa ran her palms across the silk of his waistcoat, fighting the urge to smile. She censored it by biting his neck, and reminding herself that she hated it when Lucius lied. Oh, absolutely hated it . . .

Lucius groaned and pulled her sharply closer.

"Ah . . ah . . . _ah." _

He froze, his fingers suddenly circling her wrist, and then coughed, and began to pull her hand very slowly out from under his shirt.

Narcissa blinked, disorientated. "What . . .?"

She turned, almost dreading what she might see, in the direction of Lucius' suddenly stricken gaze.

Rodolphus was leaning against the doorway, wearing the shade of a grin. His left hand was clasped lazily around the wand arm of his wife, who was staring at her sister in a sort of rigid, frozen horror. Bella's eyes were bulging in a way that suggested an explosion was imminent, but for now shock seemed to have rooted her to the spot. Only the occasional twitch of her wand arm proved she hadn't been Petrified.

Rodolphus casually adjusted her aim, and then reached across to pat her arm in mock comfort.

"You know, this is why I thought you should let the elf announce us. Even Malfoy's got a blood supply."

Lucius spluttered in protest, although whether this was the result of embarrassment, or the fact that Narcissa's knee had just collided with his chest in her attempt to stand up, was open to debate.

"_Bella!"_

Bella unfroze with snakelike speed and seized Narcissa's arm, tugging her away. She was still wearing an expression of acute horror Cissy would have found amusing if she weren't so relieved to see her.

"Bella!" she repeated, delighted.

Cissy threw one arm around her sister, attempted to smooth the creases out of her dress with the other, and tried to nudge Bella's wand away from Lucius with her elbow.

Bellatrix grimaced.

"I came to talk to you."

"Oh, _Bella!"_

"Get off."

"Bellatrix. To what do I owe the honour?"

Lucius relaxed into his chair again, lazily adjusting a button on his shirt. He looked calm, but his eyes were glittering with malice and there was an edge to his voice that could have cut glass. Cissy swallowed. He was being _polite. _This could only end badly.

Bellatrix stared intently at the ceiling, a vein jumping in her throat.

"I came to talk to you, Cissy," she said loudly.

"And yet you came to my house. But do you know, I don't quite recall inviting you in."

"I let myself in," Bella snarled.

Lucius rubbed his lip with his thumb, and then held it up, examining the mark with interest. Narcissa blushed pink at the sight of her lipstick. Bellatrix's wand arm thrashed violently, and Rodolphus grunted.

Lucius ignored them all.

"Well," he said smoothly. "That was somewhat . . . unwise, wasn't it?"

He smirked.

This time Rodolphus had to step in front of Bellatrix.

"Don't you touch my sister," she spat. "Don't _touch_ her!"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Well . . . if you insist. It does make things a little one-sided, of course, but I'm sure we can find a way around that. Can't we, Cissy?"

Narcissa choked, and Bella thrashed hopelessly against her husband's hold. Lucius seemed nothing short of delighted, and Cissy had to suppress a sudden urge to slap him.

"_Stop it,"_ she hissed.

Lucius had just opened his mouth to speak again when Rodolphus interupted.

"Enough. Shut it, all of you." Bella's elbow punched him in the ribs, and he groaned. "You too," he snapped. "_Especially_ you. Malfoy, let her talk to her sister. And if you want to marry her, then -" - he gave Bella a little shake, and grimaced when she stood on his foot - "welcome to the family."

The realization that they might soon become family seemed to revolt both Bella and Lucius into good behaviour. They exchanged mutual looks of loathing. Bella held up her hands in surrender, furiously chewing her tongue, and Lucius gave an irritable sigh.

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. "I'm so proud," he muttered. He sidestepped Bellatrix's answering hex just in time and steered her to a chair.

Cissy took the seat opposite and swallowed, suddenly nervous. Now that Bella was here, and she faced the prospect of actually talking to her, it was a lot harder to remember that she was supposed to be furious with Lucius. Not when part of her was screaming for him to stay.

Lucius opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shook his head, annoyed. Apparently he couldn't find the words.

He kissed her forehead instead. And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him as Bella's incoherent curse died on her lips.


	34. Sister

**A / N : Chapter title is from the song by Mumford and Sons. **

**Just a quick note before we start – I reply to all my reviews, but seeing as the site has changed its review reply feature, I can no longer send them to users who have disabled the private messaging feature on their accounts. If you left me feedback and heard nothing in the way of thanks, this is why – I'm not ungrateful, I just can't get through to you! Thanks also to my anon reviewer, Lizesme. :)**

* * *

Cissy swallowed, smoothing the fabric of her dress more out of habit than any real necessity.

Bellatrix was glaring at the door Lucius had just closed as though she suspected him of eavesdropping.

"Bella?"

"What?" her sister snapped.

Cissy raised a hand self-consciously to the spot on her forehead Lucius had just kissed, as though it was somehow visibly different and in need of concealment. It might have been – the look Bella was giving it was nothing short of filthy.

"Bella, he didn't mean anything by it. He was being affectionate."

Bellatrix gave a snort of contempt.

"Oh, of _course _he was. He was being _affectionate." _She scowled, the colour rising in her cheeks. "You didn't see the look he gave me."

Cissy took a deep breath. "Bella," she said, as calmly as possible, "I'm sure there wasn't any look. I'm sure-"

Bella cut across her. "Don't start," she growled.

"Start what?"

"Bella this, and _'Bella' _that, like I'm a curse that might blow up in your face, that's _what. _You're worse than Rodolphus, and I don't see what gives you the right." She folded her arms, nostrils flaring. "There was a look if I say there was a look. He was being . . possessive."

Cissy bit down hard on her tongue, just managing to keep her next exasperated cry of "_Bella!" _safely confined. Unfortunately, she recognized this mood, and most of the time there was little else to do but play along with it – Bella would only subside when she thought she'd won.

"What do you mean, possessive?" she asked wearily.

"Gloating!" Bella spat. "Like you're his and not mine – _you're not his!" _

Narcissa reeled back beneath the force of her outburst, hurt. For one wild moment she was tempted to tear back her sister's sleeve, to expose what she had long known she'd find - and to ask who Bellatrix belonged to, now.

She wasn't that foolish (_of course not) _but still . .. something remained in her of the urge to fight, the urge to shriek "_Hypocrite!" _in her sister's face.

She settled instead for holding her hand aloft, watching Bella's eyes flash in tandem with the diamond in her ring.

"Maybe I am his. Did you ever consider that?"

Bella forced her hand down again, as though Cissy's ring was something too offensive to look at.

"Oh, _really. _Oh, I _see. _You belong to him now-"

"I will do, that's what I've been trying to-"

Bella overrode her. "Don't be a twit, Cissy. What, you think you belong to him now, you think you have some special bond, just because you let him put his hands on you? Do you think that makes you _special, _Cissy? It doesn't. He won't treat you any differently, you won't be _special -"_

"Bella, stop-"

"No! _You're just going to let him ruin you!" _

There was a horrible, ringing silence. Bella's eyes were wide and distant, her breathing ragged, and Cissy felt oddly discomfited.

"Bella," she said nervously, "Lucius loves me. I wouldn't be marrying him if I didn't know he loved me. He's not trying to . . _ruin_ . . . me." She laughed awkwardly. "It's not like you to be so medieval," she joked.

Bella blinked. "What?"

"We . .. we are still talking about Lucius, aren't we?" When this failed to elicit a response, Cissy tried for light-hearted again. "You know – the man I'm going to marry?"

"I . . . of course we're talking about him! Stupid Lucius, with his stupid hair and stupid . . ."

"Peacocks?"

"Yes, them. Stupid . .. birds . . . pompous . . . and you want to marry him . . ."

Bella trailed off. She seemed to be hauling herself back into the conversation with an effort, and Cissy realized she had no idea what point she'd dropped out at. She had the overwhelming sensation, however, that at some point one of them had left the topic of Lucius entirely.

"Bella . . ."

"I know what I'm doing!"

"I know," Cissy cajoled. "I know . . ."

This was an outright lie, but if she lost Bellatrix now, she might never get her back. She extended a wary hand and jumped when Bella snatched at it, sinking her fingernails into Cissy's palm.

"It's this house," she snapped. "I can't think straight in this stupid, stifling house!"

Cissy winced. "I'm planning to redecorate," she gabbled. "Just as soon as -"

Bella spun round to face her, her eyes alight with a strange, almost fevered glow. "Let's go outside."

Cissy struggled helplessly against her sister's grip as Bella towed her to the door. "It's raining – I need a cloak – Bella, _think _about this!"

She shuddered in horror as a gust of wind whipped rain into her hair.

"It won't kill you!" Bella called, sing-song, dancing them out of all possible shelter. She whirled her sister round at dizzying speed, and Cissy screamed, fighting to keep her balance as her fine shoes slipped in the mud, both feet careening in opposite directions. But Bella's hands were clamped over her own, keeping her upright, spinning her round as her laughter rang, high and wild, in Cissy's ears.

"Stop it – this is mad – I'm getting wet – Bella, my _hair!"_

Bella giggled, fluffing the sopping strands with one hand. "Oh dear," she laughed. "Poor Cissy. Poor pretty Cissy. What shall we do with you, poor pretty Cissy?"

"Stop it!"

The harder Cissy struggled, the tighter Bella's grip seemed to become. She was frowning now, confusion clear in the set of her mouth.

"I'm not hurting you," she chided. "I wouldn't _hurt_ you, Cissy. We were having fun, weren't we? Weren't we?" she demanded, and Cissy realized she'd missed her cue. She nodded numbly.

Bella smiled. "Good," she murmered. "Good . . . that's what you are, you know. The good one. Pretty perfect Cissy. You don't make mistakes."

_I do, _Narcissa thought bitterly. _I've just learned to hide them._

And then, before she could even begin to prepare for it, Bella threw her arms around her and pulled her into an unexpected embrace.

"_Don't do it."_

It was little more than a whisper, almost lost in the weather, but it was enough to make Narcissa pull away.

"What?"

Bella suddenly seemed serious again, her childlike gaiety evaporating so suddenly Cissy had to wonder if it was ever genuine, or if it was just a mask, a distraction from something else.

Bella licked the rain from her lips. It seemed to take her a long time to answer.

"That's what you want? You want to – to _get married. _You want that to be your only achievement in life? You want your whole existence to come down to being part of someone _else's_?"

"What else is there?"

There was another uncomfortably long silence, and then Bella shrugged.

"So you're just going to live like everyone else? Redecorating and throwing parties and having babies every time your life starts to feel empty?"

Cissy folded her arms. "If I have to," she said coldly. It hadn't seemed such a bad existence to her. Bella made it sound damning.

"Ugh. Fine. Fine, if that's what you really want. But don't do it with Malfoy."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Don't do it with him. You can do all _that _with anyone. You only want Malfoy because he's pretty. Marry someone else."

Cissy stared. She was aware that her mouth was open, but hadn't the heart to close it. Bella seemed to be missing a fundamental point about her engagement, and Cissy was no longer sure her sister was even capable of understanding it.

When she didn't reply, Bella shook her hair out of her eyes, fuming. Apparently she had expected a different response.

"I know Malfoy," she snapped. "I don't know what facade he's putting on to fool you, but I know him, and he's done things you couldn't possibly love him for - I _know!"_

Cissy stared at her, battling a sudden urge to scream. _Just stop the pretence, _she thought fiercely. _Admit it! Tell me what you've been doing all these years - Lucius did! _But Bella, apparently, didn't trust her.

_Trust me, but I don't trust you. _Of course.

Cissy was suddenly, inexplicably furious.

"I know I love him," she said fiercely. "Don't you see? You're behaving as though I have a choice here, but I _don't_. I never really did. And it's not as if I just met him, Bella. I know him. I know what he's like, and I know – I know -" - her voice faltered, stumbling over the truth. (_I know what he's capable of, and I tell myself I don't care.) _But she couldn't voice it. She didn't dare. And so she clung to a more important truth, the thing that really damned her.

"I know I need him, Bella," she whispered. "I know I love him, and I know that I can't make that go away. What would you do?"

Bella broke eye contact, gazing sightlessly at the fountain, at the spiralling patterns left by rain hitting the water.

"You're not supposed to be involved," she muttered.

"I love him," Narcissa said simply. "Even if I don't marry him, I'm involved."

Bella fell silent again. She ran her hands across her face and then threw her head back, so that the rain fell into open, unseeing eyes.

"He can't make you happy," she whispered. For the first time she sounded desperate, as though she had shattered an hourglass and been forced to watch, wandless, as the sands spilled free.

"He loves me," Cissy said uncomfortably, reaching for her.

Bella flinched.

"And you think that matters?" she said harshly, glaring at her. "That's worse! Love doesn't – _love_ -" she swallowed, shuddering, her breath coiling into fog in the damp air. It wound around her, a ghostly prison that vanished in the blink of an eye. "Love doesn't make you happy," she said brokenly. "Don't you understand? _Love – ruins – everything."_

And suddenly Cissy was crying, the tears hot against her rainwashed cheeks. They stung, silent wounds.

"Bella . .."

Bella jerked away. Narcissa sighed unhappily.

"Bella I can't do this," she pleaded. "I can't let you and Lucius play tug-of-war with me, I'll _break. _You're my sister - I want you to be happy for me. Please, can't you just bite your tongue and pretend you think Lucius is good for me, and then he can do the same about you . . . and - and everything will be alright."

It sounded hopelessly naive, but Cissy was at her wits end now, and if she had learned anything at all over the past few weeks, it was that pretence could make almost anything bearable.

Bella stared at her for a long moment, and then made one last ditch attempt to argue her point.

"There are things you don't know about him. Things you _can't_ know. You don't – you don't know him, Cissy, but I do and I _can_ decide, and I've decided he's not good enough. He doesn't get to have you_._"

"Why not?"

Silence.

"What does he do that I couldn't love him for? What is he involved with that I shouldn't be? _Tell_ me!"

"No."

"Then I don't care!" Narcissa snapped. "I love him, and I'm marrying him."

Bella scowled. "Fine!" she retaliated. "Marry him! Just don't come crying to me when he makes you miserable, when he can't keep you _safe . . _."

She turned to leave, and Cissy made a wild grab for her arm.

"No - Bella, _please._ For once can't you just be . . ."

There was a loud _crack, _and her fingers closed on empty air.

"My sister," she whispered.


	35. A Weakness On My Part

Narcissa swallowed, hugging herself. Bella's departure seemed to have sucked something else away with it, leaving a hollow feeling in the pit of Cissy's stomach.

Something between them was gone, she felt sure of that. She only wished she knew what it was.

"Narcissa!"

Cissy blinked, numb. Lucius had leapt to his feet, his cane clattering against the chair legs, and she realized abruptly that her wandering feet had led her back inside. Lucius looked less than pleased to see her.

"You were outside?" he snapped. "What were you thinking?" His eyes narrowed. "What was _she _thinking?"

"She . . . I don't know. Ha. _I don't know!_"

Narcissa laughed unexpectedly ; a hopeless, lonely little sound. It bubbled away before she could clamp down on it, but the action still seemed to startle Lucius. He drew her to him and wrapped her in his cloak, examining her as though he suspected a fever, as though an unbalanced mental state might be contagious.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"I don't know."

Lucius scowled. "Of course not. Bellatrix is a law unto herself. Why should she feel responsible for you? You're soaked to the skin. I expect she hardly noticed. If you were to contract pnuemonia, she'd doubtless consider that a weakness on your part -"

Rodolphus interrupted him. "She's gone?" he said sharply.

Cissy nodded.

"I'm sorry." She had no idea why she was apologizing.

Lucius ignored her.

"Why," he snapped at Rodolphus, "would you bring her here? You must have known what would happen."

Rodolphus simply shrugged. "I don't keep her on a leash."

"She's your _wife. _If you can't keep her under control -"

Rodolphus let out a snort of laughter. "She was never under my control. If you want someone to rein her in, you're asking the wrong man."

Narcissa sighed. Lucius was wearing the look he usually wore when engaged in his least favourite activity – biting his tongue. A vein twitched in his cheek.

"Excuse me," he managed at last. He left the room without looking at either of them.

Rodolphus stared after him. "He can't think he's going to find her."

"Of course not," Narcissa said wearily. "He's annoyed. He'll have gone to take it out on one of the house-elves. He can't stand Bella, and I don't think he's too happy with you."

She stood for a moment, dripping water onto the carpet, until she remembered that she was supposed to be angry with Rodolphus. She sniffed, attempting to regain some dignity.

"I'm not happy with you either," she said belatedly.

"Oh?"

"No."

"Why's that then?"

There was a flat, lifeless quality to Rodolphus' voice which suggested he had absolutely no interest in the answer, but was asking anyway. It was strangely aggravating. It was pulling her out of her numbness, forcing her to make the effort. Rodolphus' mere presence, when she was still dizzy from Bella's departure, was making her head hurt. He was forcing her to feel things – pity, confusion, resentment – she didn't particularly want to feel.

"You know why," Narcissa retorted. There it was, the edge in her voice that was cutting through the blurred edge of her consciousness, pulling her back into the present, when all she really wanted to do was find Lucius and fall asleep for a little while, curled against his chest. She sighed.

"You would have kissed me. Wouldn't you? Just to get back at Bella."

Rodolphus shrugged, apparently apathetic. "Yes."

"I'm her _sister!" _

Rodolphus gave a hollow laugh. "That was sort of the point."

"I don't understand."

Rodolphus sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. You're the only one who would have really hurt her." He paused and continued more quietly. "And I wanted to hurt her."

Narcissa pursed her lips, trying to remain patient.

"I don't care how much you wanted to hurt her," she managed eventually. "I know that she hurt you, even if I don't _want _to know how. And I understand. But you had no right to drag me into it! I've wasted weeks trying to make Bella see that my relationship with Lucius is none of her business – and her marriage is none of _my _business. I won't let you make it so."

"I didn't drag you into this. She's _your _sister," Rodolphus said bluntly. "You chose to throw your lot in with her."

He wielded the unspoken implication – _you could have sided with someone else – _like a fist. 

_You were doubted._

Narcissa inhaled sharply. "That's enough. Go home, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus shifted uneasily. "Alright. That was out of line. You're soft, but you're not . . . You've got some sense of pride, anyway. It's hard enough to come by, these days. Some families . . . "

He shook his head wearily, and Narcissa found herself echoing the movement.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. There was a moment's awkward silence before she completed the sentence. "But I would still appreciate it if you went home now."

The corner of Rodolphus' mouth twitched at her formality, but he stood up obligingly. "Of course. Good evening, _Miss_ _Black_."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Oh, go home. I'm dripping water into the carpet, you know, and some of these fabrics are family heirlooms. Lucius would have a heart attack."

The twitch became something of a smile as Rodolphus crossed to the fireplace. "I'm sure he would."

Narcissa felt her own smile fade as he reached for the Floo powder. "I hope you find her," she said quietly.

Rodolphus gave a harsh laugh. "Don't waste your time. I know where she'll be."

He positioned his hand above the grate, and Narcissa hesitated.

"For what it's worth," she said carefully, "I think you might be a better husband than Bella deserves. If you still love her, please, don't do anything . . . stupid. I'm getting quite fond of you, and I'd rather she _didn't _kill you, if it's all the same to you."

"I'll bear it in mind."

"I'm almost sure she doesn't want to kill you either."

"Goodnight, Narcissa."

Narcissa sighed. "Goodnight, Rodolphus."

The fire flared green, and when she opened her eyes again, Rodolphus was gone.

* * *

She found Lucius in his study, apparently lost in thought. He was gazing out at the rain, wearing an expression that made her uneasy.

"Lucius?"

He started. "Oh. Narcissa." There was a moment's pause, as he pulled himself back into her presence, and then he waved at the back of his chair. "I brought you a robe."

"So I see." Narcissa put it on and flashed him an encouraging smile. Lucius didn't notice, but he did pull her closer to him and point his wand at her hair. Narcissa shivered happily under the resulting stream of hot air.

"What's wrong?" she said softly.

"I . . . nothing, I'm sure. She'll have gone to tell the Dark Lord, that's all."

"She?"

"Your sister. She'll want to see me punished."

Narcissa frowned. "I don't understand. Punished for what? What can she tell him - that you're marrying her sister? That's only a crime in Bella's book, surely."

A muscle jumped in Lucius' neck, as though he had been about to shake his head but thought better of it at the last minute.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "But you know your sister. She wants to make trouble for me. In telling the Dark Lord before I do, she . . . it makes it appear I have something to hide."

His concentration faltered, and the charm drying her hair briefly became an icy breeze. Narcissa swallowed, and let it pass without comment.

"But you _don't_ have anything to hide."

Lucius grimaced.

"Do you?"

Lucius avoided her gaze. "It's late. I'm sure you're tired."

"Well . . . yes, but . . ."

"Then go home, and don't worry. I'll set things right in the morning. Your sister has nothing she can use, anyway."

"What do you mean, use? What would she use against you?"

"Nothing," Lucius said coolly. "She has nothing." He kissed her forehead absent-mindedly and steered her towards the door. "Get some sleep. I'm sure you've endured enough tonight."

If any of this was meant to soothe her, it had the opposite effect. But Lucius didn't seem inclined to enlighten her any further. Still . . . Lucius didn't make mistakes. Not, as Narcissa had come to think of it, _professionally. _Lucius was good at evading awkward questions. If he had made a misstep somewhere, he could put it right. Of course he could.

With one hand on the doorframe Narcissa turned, and said the only thing it made any sense to say.

"I love you."

Lucius looked up, his face half in shadow.

"Yes," he said quietly. "You do."


End file.
